Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume 3
by AmberTheCritic
Summary: Following the events of Endgame, the Guardians (with Thor and Nebula) seek a way to find and recuse Gamora. As if the mission wasn't impossible enough, along the way they're bombarded by a kamikaze cult leader, repressed trauma in the form of glorified veterinarians, and a green haired moocher who wants to be taken back to Earth. (T for language and rough subject material)
1. From Bad to an Equal But Different Bad

_New Mexico_

_(Earth)_

_2017_

* * *

_"—gonna save me, call me baby, run her hands through my hair!"_

The girls weren't so much singing the words as they were shouting them over the wind that rushed past their car. Had anyone been around, they likely would've grumbled something about "Stupid teenagers being disruptive," but it was in the middle of an empty highway, in an equally empty desert.

And it was one in the morning.

_"She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily, but yet she wouldn't care!"_

Lorna's throat burned from a combination of the wind and "singing," so she took her eyes off the road for a brief second to grab her drink.

_"We'll steal her cooper, it'll be super—" _Sprout improvised, fixing her with a grin, _"—find some dudes we can screw—"_

Lorna reached over blindly to smack her, "Shut up, dude!"

Sprout avoided the attempt, laughing all the way, "Watch the road! I'm gonna be pissed if we made it this far to die!"

"I _am_ watching the road!" Lorna shouted to be heard over the music, but it ended up much louder than they both expected; the car's radio fizzed with static, cutting off the song.

Lorna groaned, finally yanking her phone up from the cup holder, "Why the actual hell does it keep doing this?!"

"The Bluetooth must be messing up," Sprout offered, "Since we're out in the middle of nowhere."

"That shouldn't have anything to do with it, though!"

Unwilling to invite more frustration, Lorna just pocketed her phone with a huff.

"I can try to get my phone working," Sprout offered, already scrolling through her music.

"Mine's almost dead," Lorna said, "Maybe you should save your battery. So we can call someone if we need to."

Sprout gave her a flat look, "Call who? My mom?"

Lorna huffed, "Or my parents?" As an afterthought, she took a hand off the wheel and repeated, with air quotes, "Parents."

Pity replaced Sprout's unamusement, and she turned off the fizzing radio. All that was left was the wind and the engine—and a whole lot of unwelcomed, uncomfortable silence.

"You goo—"

"I'm waiting for you to finish the little rhyme you had going," Lorna interrupted as if she hadn't heard Sprout speaking.

"Man I dunno." She took Lorna's drink for herself, "I was just making stuff up."

A pause. She spit the drink out of the car.

"This tastes like the floor of a snow cone truck."

"And how would you know that?"

"I don't tell you everything."

"It keeps me from falling asleep and driving us into a cactus, so whatever."

"Or I could just drive."

"I'm fine. Finish the rhyme."

Sprout rolled her eyes, "You do it."

"I don't do wordplay as good as you." Lorna looked away from the empty road again, "Come on, dude."

Her request was ignored as Sprout reclined in her seat, propping her feet up on the dashboard of the car.

"Watch the road, Cloverhead."

The nickname was met with a clipped tone, "Don't call me that."

"I don't now why you're so embarrassed by it. If my hair grew in that color, I'd be frickin' flaunting it."

Lorna didn't reply.

"Your roots are showing, by the way. So."

She made a mental note to pick up hair dye at their next stop. And continued to withhold a reply.

Sprout stared at the passing desert. It was just a blur of dark shapes, none of which interested her.

"When do you wanna stop for the night?" She made every effort to sound casual.

"… Probably in an hour," Lorna answered, her tone much the same, "We'll put the hood thing up and sleep at the next rest stop."

"Some good it's gonna do protecting us from Chupacabras."

"Whatever."

"Don't "whatever" me, I totally saw one—"

"That was a goddamn opossum!"

"Opossums. Don't. Eat. Deer!"

Lorna just grinned and squinted to read the upcoming sign in the darkness.

_Rest Area – 11 Miles._

Sprout pulled out her phone and started to tap something out, "If not a Chupacabra, we'll just get abducted by aliens."

"God I wish."

"I mean, New Mexico is the alien state, right?" Sprout continued, "That or New York, with the whole—"

"Yeah, the whole invasion thing." It was followed by a hiss of a breath, "Jeez, what was that? Like, five years ago?"

"I think so."

"Seventh grade. That's so long ago."

"Right?"

"But hey, if we do see aliens, we can just call in the Avengers to save our asses."

Sprout laughed, "What, you got Captain America on Snapchat?"

"Oh yeah, we meet up for coffee."

"Think he can get me Black Widow's number?"

Lorna just rolled her eyes and kept driving. The speedometer called her out with a bright "85," so she ignored it.

"… hey."

"What."

"I finished the rhyme."

"Tell me."

Sprout shifted in her seat, sitting up and brushing the tangled bangs out of her face.

"Alright, so we got: _we'll steal her cooper, it'll be super, find some—"_

"I know that part." Lorna stuck out her tongue, "The rest, Kanye."

"Gimme a second, jeez."

The taunt didn't sound sarcastic; instead, it was almost… nervous.

_Stage fright? That's new._

Lorna peered over briefly, but Sprout was looking ahead at the road.

"Dude?"

"And… then the rest is something like: _But we won't need 'em, I got a green thumb, makes me perfect for—"_

A sudden chorus of beeping erupted from the car, making them both jump.

"What the f—"

Then the radio shrieked to life, blaring static like a hurricane.

On instinct, Lorna slammed on the brakes—and flung out an arm to stop her friend from smashing into the windshield.

The screech of tires joined the cacophony of sound, and when they finally stopped, they were parallel to the road, which now sported a new set of angry black tire tracks.

While Lorna forced the car into park and ripped out the key, Sprout hastily turned off the radio, then stared at her with wide eyes. They were so round and white, it was almost possible to look in and read the thought "We almost died" as it passed through her brain.

Her mouth opened as if to speak—

_"Wear your goddamn seatbelt!" _Lorna beat her to the chase, sounding almost hysterical as she did.

The girls just looked at each other in the following silence. Just the breeze and nothing else.

"… what happened?"

Lorna put the key back in place, ready to turn it on again.

She didn't have to.

The engine light blinked. The turn signals—both of them—blinked. The battery light, passenger seatbelt light, engine temperature light—every light on the dashboard flashed in rapid succession. The speedometer began to move, even though the car didn't.

Sprout reached for the keys, "Turn it off."

Lorna caught her hand before it could get there, "It's not—"

"Lorna turn it off—"

The radio, previously off, started to shriek with static again.

_"Lorna turn off the car—"_

Suddenly, from above them, a light appeared. On a scale of cheap glow in the dark stars to the noonday sun, it was a solid stadium floodlight. They looked up on instinct, then shielded their eyes, blinded.

And then, by seemingly nothing at all, Lorna was yanked upwards.

_"LORNA!"_

Sprout latched onto her friend's wrist with both hands, and as such, began to vacate the car along with her.

"Shit!" She jammed her foot in one of the gaps of the steering wheel, halting them midair.

Lorna grabbed onto Sprout's other arm like a lifeline, dangling hair obstructing her view.

"Don't—" she stammered, "Don't let go—Sprout don't let me go—"

"I'm not letting you go!" She strained to pull them both downwards, "I've got you—"

The pull only grew stronger, and both felt their grasps beginning to weaken.

_"Shit!" _Sprout thrashed her free foot around, looking for a hold, _"Shit shit shit—"_

One of Sprout's hands slipped, and they both shrieked.

_"Don't let go!" _she pleaded, _"Sprout—"_

Sprout forwent her attempt at rooting them and instead grabbed for Lorna's arm again. Her foot in the steering wheel would falter at any second.

_"Sprout don't—"_

Something came over Lorna then: the reality of the situation. And what it could mean if she didn't let go. What it would mean for them both.

But it only made her panic more.

_"Hang on!" _Sprout cried, sounding closer to tears than Lorna had ever heard her, _"Hang on I won't—"_

"...Let go."

She froze. Then pulled harder.

"Sprout you have to let go_—_"

"No!"

Lorna tried to pry out her hands, but Sprout only dug in her nails in response.

"It'll take us both! You have to_—_"

_"No! Screw you!"_

They both felt the sudden give of her hold on the car, only for it to jerk them to an unsteady stop once again.

"Sprout—" Lorna tried to keep the fear out of her voice and failed, "Sprout it's okay just let go— it's okay— Sprout—"

Her friend's eyes narrowed. And she reached down to unstick her shoe.

Without taking the time to think it through, Lorna's free hand darted to the seatbelt. She jerked it across Sprout's chest. And shoved it into the latch with as much forward momentum as she could gain.

In return, she was yanked upwards hard enough to make her head snap forward, audibly. Her grip faltered completely. And Sprout lost her hold.

_"LORNA!"_

Her body disappeared into the light, and not a second later, it was swallowed up like a camera shutter. The dark shape above the car, humming with an ascending whir, rose up into the night sky until it was nothing.

Once again, there was silence. Except for the breeze. The final electrical beep of a now dead car. And weeping.

* * *

_**Thank you for reading! Hopefully this goes somewhere fun and I don't abandon it a third of the way through like my other GOTG story; here's to hoping. I'd appreciate any feedback you'd like to throw my way, good or bad.**_

* * *

_**"Jackie and Wilson" Hozier**_


	2. The Plan Was More of a Suggestion Anyway

**_Just as a quick note, the song that gets used in this chapter is "My Life" by Billy Joel, if you want to listen along while you read when it comes up_****_— it definitely helped me write it. Have fun!_**

* * *

_Six Years Later_

_Siethea - Dwarf Planet_

* * *

You would think that if you traveled far enough out in space, things would only become more and more unfamiliar. But the think about limitless worlds in a limitless galaxy is that more often than you'd like, you're bound to run into things that you almost recognize.

Such was the case of Siethea's great temple. Sprawling across an otherwise beautiful land, it stood haughty and polished, making the otherwise gentle light it reflected come off as blinding. Smooth stone walls and pillars of creamy white, arches and needlessly intricate molding on the ceiling and base of the floor, tapestries and lanterns and looming doorways and…

… it was an eyesore. An eyesore that deserved, at the very _very _least, to be overtaken by a flock of Siethea's version of pigeons. To help adorn those tediously polished stone walls and pillars.

The pillars, unsightly as they were, provided ample footing at their tops. Thus, Nebula and Groot were able to traverse the temple unseen by those below.

Nebula landed on another pillar top, crouching forward to divert some of the weight to her hands and off her feet, softening the sound. She listened intently for footsteps below, before slowly rising and flattening herself against the arch that came from the pillar top and peaked at the ceiling. Her eyes scanned the floor below, watching. Waiting.

A series of beeps made her jerk her attention upward—and she scowled.

"Put it away, Tree."

Groot met her command with a grunt and an eye roll, continuing his game unabated.

Nebula growled right back, "Put it away, or I _will_ destroy it."

He scoffed, "I am Groot."

Ignoring him, she checked once more for anyone who might hear them, then raised a communicator close to her face.

"Rocket. Have you found it?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking I did," the voice on the other end answered her. Somewhere within the same general area of the massive temple, Rocket scratched his neck while staring up at the heavy doors, "Unless these assholes like keeping everything they own locked up behind thirty-foot stone doors."

He paused.

"Which. I'm thinking ain't too far off." After hitting a few buttons on the screen of the communicator he continued, "I'm sending everyone the spot, so get over here."

With a faint ping, the location was received, and Nebula studied it momentarily before pocketing the device.

"We're moving, Tree."

She crouched, then launched herself over the width of the hallway, landing nimbly on the pillar top. To her growing frustration, she was not followed by Groot, still engrossed in his game.

The next thing he knew, a metal fist was embedded in the stone next to his head, and an equally stony face was inches from his.

And then, the game was wrenched from his grasp. Nebula stared at him coldly for a second longer before shoving it into the pocket of her jacket.

"Move. Or be moved."

She vacated his pillar, and Groot released the breath he'd been holding. Then he scowled.

"I am Groot."

"I don't understand, and I don't care," was the harsh whisper she shot back.

He groaned, as if asked to perform some arduous feat. But begrudgingly, he did follow.

Rocket had barely closed the communicator before his ears perked up at the sound of voices. He flattened against the closest wall, obscured from view by a pillar, and poked his head out the smallest bit in order to see.

A hallway ran perpendicular to the one he currently hid in, a good twenty feet away. As the sounds of voices came closer, a strange procession came into view.

Hooded figures in pale orange robes walked solemnly, heads bowed and obscured. The robes trailed just behind their feet, covering nearly everything that laid beneath. They were small, identical, and practically seemed to cower before the one who led them.

A massive man, practically as wide as he was tall, lumbered at the head of the group. His nose lingered where the top of his head might have been, held high and mightily in contrast to those around him. His heavy steps fell in tandem with his low, droning words that Rocket didn't understand and, frankly, didn't give a shit about.

_Probably some sorta snobby priest or something. _Rocket scoffed, _Prick._

The large man's eyes were half-lidded, as if he was putting himself to sleep with his own listless words. His robes, though the same color as the figures around him, were by no means bare: jewels, gold ornaments, and chains of dark metal adorned the garment.

The light that reflected off them gleamed in Rocket's eyes.

_Well, if he's so holy, then he's not gonna need any of those whole "worldly pleasures," now is he?_ Rocket smirked at his own reasoning, _Might as well do him a favor._

Before he could even consider the fact that just maybe, waiting for his team was more important than potentially sabotaging the whole mission for a few sparkly rocks, he was trailing behind the group at a safe distance.

* * *

Four hooded figures, walking in a messy single file, traversed one of the many hallways of the temple. Their robes, which should have just touched the floor, varied from a few inches too long to _far _too short.

Peter Quill revealed the communicator from his sleeve the smallest bit, enough to check their progress, and made a swift right down the next hall. The three behind him followed in suit.

"Well we're not dead yet, so we're doing something right," he muttered, peering back at his team. "Mantis, your… your thingies are—y'know, sticking out."

She blinked at him cluelessly for a second before it clicked; with a nod of understanding, she pulled the hood over her antennae. Now it stood upright in the air, almost taller than the rest of them.

"It that better?"

"No," Drax answered from behind her, "It's worse."

"… Well can you maybe, I dunno, put 'em flat against your head or—"

"They are not comfortable when they are like that," she protested, interrupting Peter.

Someone hit Peter's arm, accompanied by a chuckle.

"Yes, honestly Quill, you should be more sensitive to the needs of your team." Thor gave him a smug smile from under his hood, "As their… "leader"."

Slowly, Peter turned his head to fix him with something just short of a glare.

_Great. This shit again._

"Okay, first of all," he started, still keeping his voice at a whisper, "I don't appreciate the sarcasm you've got going here—"

"Oh no, no sarcasm: of course not," Thor assured, "That's just the way I talk. No, of course you're the leader; no one's questioning it." He glanced back at the team, "You two don't question it, right? Who's in charge."

A silence followed.

"… I am starting to be less certain," Mantis answered in confusion.

Peter frowned, "Dude, Thor, don't try to—"

He was ignored and subsequently interrupted, "Which way now, Star Shine?"

"Star _Lord," _he stressed, "You Stay-Puffed looking…"

A hooded figure—revealed to be a priestess— rounded the corner in front of them. The team went silent, heads bowing to conceal their faces. As if two massive guys who could barely fit into their stolen robes didn't arouse enough suspicion.

After a few more quick turns and held breaths, the four arrived at the designated hallway. Like Rocket had mentioned, it held a set of towering, heavy doors that were adorned with carvings and ornate stones alike.

… and _speaking _of Rocket.

"Rocket," Peter hissed into the communicator, "The hell are you, man?"

"What, you can't open a door without me?"

"You were supposed to meet us here!"

"I'm doing something—I'll be there in a second." He was lying, of course. Now within eyesight of the large priest and mass of priestesses, there was no turning back.

Peter held down the button to say more, but ultimately bit his tongue and released it.

"If he's somewhere digging in the trash again…" He pressed the button, "Nebula, you close?"

"Above you."

He glanced up—she perched on a column, Groot across from her.

Peter flashed her a thumbs up, half hoping it would be returned (it wasn't) and turned to face the doors.

In the center was a massive circular lock, cast in dark metal. It branched out across the stone, reaching both the top and bottom of the giant doors.

After some rifling through his pockets beneath the orange robe, Peter withdrew a small device that resembled a glorified dentist's tool. He stuck it in the lock, turning it this way and that.

This continued for a solid minute, the doors remaining in place.

"… It didn't work," Drax observed.

"Yeah, I can _see _it didn't work." He stood, looking the doors up and down as if searching for the problem, "… It looks like… you're supposed to stick something in here—" Peter gestured vaguely to the face of the lock, "—that's big enough to trip the parts on the edge, which'll trigger the other parts to move and… make the parts connected to those parts… slide out of the way…"

He trailed off uncertainly, rubbing the area under his nose as if it helped hide his expression.

Drax stared him dead in the eyes.

"That makes no sense."

"What I'm saying is," he tried to recover, "If we can hold down those parts at the edge while turning it, we'll _probably _be able to open it without anyone noticing."

Before the suggestion could be considered, Thor stepped up to the door.

"I'll handle this."

At his side, he held Stormbreaker. Peter's eyes widened.

"Whoa whoa—" He held out an arm to halt Thor in his tracks, "What are you doing?"

"I'm opening the door," he answered simply.

"Is that gonna be quiet?"

"Of course."

"Really? Because I don't think that's gonna be quiet."

"No, it'll be incredibly quiet. Silent."

"And if we are heard," Drax interrupted seriously, "We will fight whoever comes to stop us."

Thor beamed, gesturing back to him, "See? He gets it."

On the rafters above, Nebula watched with growing aggravation.

"What are you doing?" she snapped into the communicator.

"Opening the door," Thor answered, mostly to himself.

"No he's not—we're _not _gonna axe the door!" Peter planted himself in front of the lock, hands up in preparation to divert Thor's attempt, "The hell are you thinking?"

Thor raised an eyebrow, "And how are you suggesting we get in?"

"Like I was _saying, _we hold down the… the things—"

"What does that say, there?" Thor suddenly asked, pointing to a spot on the door near the top. Peter, distracted, glanced up to read it, backing away from the door slightly to see the spot referenced—

—giving Thor the opportunity to drive Stormbreaker squarely into the lock, shattering it completely.

It was _not _quiet.

The Guardians froze. Down the hall, the priest and priestesses froze.

And then they began to run towards the source of the sound.

_"Shit," _Rocket breathed, having been only inches from a score when the crash erupted. Now, he watched helplessly as the robed figures proceeded down the hall away from him.

_"What the hell was that?!" _Peter snapped, but Thor seemed unfazed; rather, he had the expression of a satisfied housecat.

He made a sweeping gesture towards the now unlocked doors, "After you."

Nebula was the first to hear the now chattering procession as it appeared in the perpendicular hallway.

"Idiots!" It wasn't quite a yell, but held the same acid, "They heard you!"

"Yeah I wonder how?!" Peter tried to reach for his gun, but the robes fell in the way—he made a desperate attempt to squirm out of them in time. Drax simply ripped the fabric down the middle casting it aside and brandishing his knives. They faced the perpendicular hallway, braced for the fight ahead.

Nebula withdrew a knife from her boot, prepared to leap down in defense of the team. Everyone tensed up. Ready.

And then, they heard it. The music.

_"Got a call from an old friend we'd used to be real close_

_Said he couldn't go on the American way_

_Closed the shop, sold the house, bought a ticket to the west coast—"_

Peter, recognizing the song, scrambled to turn off his Zune— only to find it missing.

As expected, the procession fell for the trick; they diverted their course to follow the sound, and the small furry creature that was blaring it.

Rocket secured the Zune on the front of his shirt, connected to a small, portable speaker perched on his shoulder, carrying the tech as well as the rest of his idiot team.

"Bought you some time, you damned morons!" He didn't even bother to shout it into the communicator before dashing down the hall, "Hurry the hell up!"

He disappeared around a bend, the priest and priestesses trailing behind. Nebula didn't waste any time; she jumped to her feet.

"Watch your team," she told Groot, "I'll help your friend."

"I am Groo—"

"I still don't understand!" She abandoned him to leap to another pillar top, pursuing the group.

Down below, Peter took the liberty of shouldering the heavy doors, and they flew open.

For the first time, they found an actual threat in the form of guards: several of them, each with a long, electrified spear to their name.

"Let's make it a goal of not getting stabbed, alright?" Peter prompted before engaging his helmet, "We ran out of band aids on the ship."

With a yell, Drax dove into the fray, followed closely by Thor, then Peter. Mantis, not nearly as eager, was content to walk.

* * *

Rocket had dropped to all fours to scurry through the temple, blatantly aware of the fact that he hadn't planned further than this.

He tried to dart around a corner—the glossy stone floor offered no traction or give for his claws. Into the wall he went.

A string of curses joined the music, but he shook it off and continued to flee.

_Only a matter of time before I hit a dead end, _he reasoned, _Gotta think of something better than running like an idiot._

Rocket dashed past a few groups of baffled priestesses who either stared at him or backed up like he carried a disease.

In a nearby hallway (his turns weren't quite as sharp anymore), his eyes caught a tapestry hung against the wall—if he could climb up it, it wouldn't be too hard to reach one of the pillars. Taunting the priest from above sounded a whole lot better than continuing to focus on not slamming into walls.

Rocket dashed over to the tapestry, and make a jump for it.

And came up just short.

He crouched low, and jumped again—still just inches away.

"You gotta be kidding me." On instinct, he glanced around to make sure no one had seen it.

A priestess had stopped just a few feet away, staring blankly.

Rocket felt the heat rise into his cheeks, and he bared his teeth.

"The hell are you looking at?!"

She raised her hands in defense, but it only added to his embarrassment. He snarled at her. She ran. He did the same, in the other direction.

Music still partially deafening him, Rocket didn't bother once looking back to see how closely he was being followed. So, when he found himself in a dead end, his initial reaction was to turn and head back.

But the voices were right there, effectively cutting off his escape.

"Crap."

He reached back for his gun, prepared to create his own way out.

"Rocket!"

Nebula was revealed to be the source of the voice, dangling from a pillar top by one hand.

"About time!" he chastised, using his free hand to accept hers, and was subsequently yanked upwards.

The force of it freed the Zune from his shirt, and as it fell, it disconnected from the speaker's cord and abruptly halted the music.

_"SHIT!"_

He released his gun and jerked forward in an attempt to catch the Zune, thus throwing Nebula off balance. With a clatter, the gun hit the ground. Then Rocket. Then Nebula.

Opening his eyes hesitantly, Rocket saw the Zune clutched safely in his hand. He exhaled heavily.

And then he was hit on the back of the head.

_"You and the tree with your stupid toys!" _

Rocket shot her a glare, holding the area painfully, "Jesus man! Just cave in my skull why don't you?"

He rose to his feet, this time making sure the Zune was secured in a lower pocket. Then he went for his gun—

But the priest got there first. This time, he was joined by a mass of guards. The gun was leveled with Rocket's head, while the spears, already live with electricity, were pointed squarely as Nebula. Her knife halted mere inches from one of the cowering priestesses.

No one spoke. Just stood around and stared at each other.

_… We can take 'em._

Then again, he could almost make out the scorch marks on the inner barrel of his gun.

"… Hey, I'm just amazed you managed to bend down and pick up _my _gun, at all," he shot towards the priest. Nebula repressed a groan beside him.

* * *

Thor's rollicking laughter boomed through the short chamber, Stormbreaker whirling through the air as it demolished everything in its path—banisters, pillars, guards, lampstands. Drax was doing a similar caliber of damage, but channeling it solely into taking down the guards that made the mistake of charging him.

Even with a gun, Peter had to take great care to avoid the electrified spears being plunged towards him. He leapt back as one came within inches of relieving him of his left ear, but it sent him into Mantis, who stumbled before righting herself.

"Hey! Be careful!" he cautioned, firing at his opponents.

"I'm sorry!" she blurted quickly, "Is there a way that I can help you—"

"Duck!"

She did as instructed, and Peter fired at the guard behind her. When she stood again, Peter had returned to fighting the swarm of guards before him.

Mantis glanced around awkwardly, searching for something to do. None of the guards seemed to be concerned with her, instead devoting their attention to the three that they considered the bigger threat. She would set her sights on a guard, only for them to be taken out by another guardian.

Thor landed in the floor—_in _the floor, not on it— a few feet from her, so she hurried over to aid him. He allowed himself to be helped up, brushing the rubble from his beard.

"Are you alright?!"

"Oh yes, thank you—it's certainly not the first time I've fallen through a floor."

Guards came running their way. Thor hurled Stormbreaker. The guards weren't going to be running again, anytime soon.

"Is there any way I can help you fight?" she offered earnestly. Thor's smile seemed uncertain, but still friendly.

"I think I can protect myself," he began to return to the fray, stopping to add, "Thank you though—I'll let you know if anything changes."

Again, Mantis was alone. She meshed her hands together, remaining in place.

Thor was wrecking shop on his own. Peter managed to get himself knocked upside the head with a spear but was otherwise fine.

Drax was yelling out with each blow he struck; the knives were hardly even needed.

"Drax, do you need—"

He continued to shout as a guard was flung into the air, spinning like a falling blossom. His landing wasn't as delicate or quiet.

Mantis' head lowered, and she quietly retreated to the side of the chamber while the others fought.

After another loud, destructive minute, the chamber was cleared of guards, and they were able to proceed through another door only slightly smaller than the first.

All sources of natural light were effectively stifled, so the room was lit with several candles balanced atop metal lampstands. The room was hazy with the smoke of candles and incense, giving it an eerie vibe.

It was filled with artifacts, from paintings and massive tapestries, bound books and scrolls, to metal objects that glistened in the low candlelight. Everything was coated in a healthy layer of dust.

Peter retracted his helmet, exhaling slowly.

"Everyone alive? No one got stabbed?" he asked around.

Mantis rubbed her eyes, "My head is very heavy from all the candles and incest."

Peter made a sound like he was experiencing whiplash.

"The _WHAT?"_

"… From the smoke? Of the candles and—"

"_Incense. It's called incense."_

Thor snickered, but managed to disguise it by carefully studying a nearby stack of books.

Once Peter recovered, he addressed the group again, "Alright gang… let's be quick. Keep an eye out for anything soul stone related."

"Meaning what?" Drax questioned.

"Something like a… a map, or a gilded box or… you know, something like that," Thor replied, "Something that looks expensive or exceedingly old."

"But," Peter piped up quickly, "If you see _anything _that looks like it might set off a trap—like floor spikes or a giant bolder—then _don't _touch it. You got it?"

They went off in different directions, scrounging through piled of what were probably priceless relics. For the most part, they were not handled as such.

"Pst," Peter hissed, "Mantis. Hey."

She perked up, "Yes?"

He held up the book he'd been flipping through, revealing a crudely drawn image of a large, bald figure. Then he gestured to Drax, who was currently throwing aside an expensive looking metal vase.

Mantis giggled, "Very funny—now show Drax!"

"No we don't wanna—" He pointed between the two of them, grinning, "Joke's just between us."

"Ohhhh…" she replied in a conspiratory tone, "I get it. A secret joke."

"Yeah, you got it."

Thor blew dust off yet another scroll, and when he didn't find anything interesting, tossed it into the pile of scrolls he'd been amassing. His eyes wandered to a far corner of the room, then stopped.

"I don't suppose we're looking for something like that?"

They followed his gaze to a large, golden trunk hidden in the shadows. It was adorned in deep orange stones of various sizes, and almost every inch of the lid was covered in candles, incense holders, white flower petals, and other offerings.

"… Yeah. That could be it."

The four approached it together, staring down at the garish thing.

"It could be some sort of trap," Drax cautioned, looking to Peter, "I will open it."

Peter glanced between the trunk and Drax, then shrugged.

"Go ahead."

Drax stepped up to the trunk cautiously, studying it.

"It might be a good idea to set all that junk on the top off to the—"

Peter's advice went unheeded as Drax, in no mood to be patient or subtle, swept everything onto the floor.

Thor flashed him a thumbs up, "Or you can do that."

With a deep breath, Drax placed his hands on the lid, putting his whole weight into shoving it away from the box. It produced a low scraping sound, and faint light poured into the box.

Drax, his back to the team, screamed.

The group sprang into action; Thor's axe erupted with electricity, Peter raised both guns in preparation, and Mantis braced herself to attack.

"What?!" Peter shouted, "What is it?!"

Drax turned to face them, face neutral.

"It's empty."

…

Peter ran over in disbelief, but it was just like Drax had said: empty. Utterly bare. Not so much as a speck of dust.

"… Why…" he began, turning to face Drax, "…the _hell _did you scream like that?!"

"I was surprised."

"By what?! There's nothing inside!"

His face didn't change, "That's why I was surprised."

Peter growled, then kicked the trunk with full force, not so much as budging it. He tried to hide his limp as he stalked away, holding his head in frustration.

Mantis looked between the three, "… What do we do now?"

"We keep looking."

Peter faced them again, no humor in his voice.

"We keep looking until we find something—anything." His gaze intensified, "We're getting her back. One way or another."

It was met with somber expressions. Even Thor offered a nod.

"We will."

Peter nodded too, but made an attempt to regain his machismo shortly after, "Right—I know we will." He sniffed shortly, scratching his nose, "Alright. Now. Let's meet back up with—"

As if on cue, the room was flooded with another wave of guards, but those at the head of the charge led between them an extremely unhappy Nebula, and a slightly less unhappy Groot and Rocket. All three stood with their arms held before them, clasped in some sort of metal brace that completely obscured their hands.

Rocket, looking surprisingly smug for someone with three spears within inches of his neck, offered a nod.

"Hey, so these dipshits here informed me that we got a little problem with your plan, Quill."

Peter was rapidly counting the guards in the room, trying to determine their chances.

"Yeah and what's that?"

"Well first of all, they got like, a shit-ton more of these guys here—" He gestured to the friendly guards stood poised to impale him, "—so chances are at least one of us are gonna die before they do."

Thor did not stand down, "I'm willing to gamble."

Rocket gave him a flat look, "Well considering that's coming from the guy who doesn't have electric sticks pointed at his throat…"

"Anything else?" Peter interrupted.

"Yeah. Someone beat us to the punch."

Drax looked between them, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Nebula said lowly, "Someone has already stolen what we came for."

The words sunk in. Peter lowered his guns.

"… well shit."

* * *

_**Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave any comments/critique you have, as I'd really appreciate the feedback.**_


	3. Saved by Billy Joel, Once Again

**_If you're in the same situation I am, you have a lot more down-time from school all of a sudden. I'll try to speed up chapters to give you another thing to read. :)_**

* * *

If Peter had been around on Earth when the movie _Incredibles _came out, he would've likened the odd device he and the rest of the guardians were imprisoned in to the one in that. The weird ring with barely visible pseudo-electricity that suspended them in midair, interacting with the heavy globe-like restraints that engulfed their hands and feet.

But Peter hadn't even seen the beginning of the Disney renaissance, much less Pixar, so as it was, he had nothing to compare the containment device to. All he knew was that he wasn't fond of it.

The chorus of grumblings from the rest of the group confirmed that neither were they.

They were being kept in the temple's dungeon—because of course a place of serenity and worship would have one of those—and had been given the insult of being guarded by an entire two people. Who currently looked to be dozing.

"What is your plan now?" Thor questioned brightly, "Since you're the one in charge, after all."

"Well my plan _was _gonna work just fine," Peter said defensively, "Because it didn't include causing a ruckus and getting caught!"

"So it included the thing we were trying to steal not being there, too?" Rocket snapped, suspended beside Peter. This way, he got a clear view of Peter's unamused expression.

"No."

"Okay, then we're ditching that plan."

Before the argument could escalate, the heavy dungeon doors unlatched from the outside and creaked open. The guards stood at attention to create the illusion that they'd been doing so the whole time.

The high priest—over the course of several seconds and lumbering footsteps—gradually entered the room. He was flanked by a gaggle of priestesses, heads down and obscured, long robes trailing along the polished floor like the train of a floating ghost.

The procession stopped before the guardians, close enough to take them in. And the high priest did plenty of that; his eyes, squinted and small, were partially obscured by the fat in his cheeks. He looked like some sort of overfed rodent in an orange bathrobe.

Not like they'd planned on fearing him, anyway.

Before he spoke, the priest pulled a blue-ish pipe from the pocket of his robe and took a long draw from it. The blue smoke he exhaled smelled like a moldy church.

"What," he began, "Have we done… to be deserving of this… sort of oppression? All we have done… is that which draws us closer… to the great stone."

The way he drew out his words like he savored them, along with the high and lofty place in the back of his throat he spoke from, immediately cemented him as the arrogant douchebag they'd already suspected him to be. Peter could practically feel his team beginning to zone out.

"We seclude ourselves here…" The priest made a sweeping gesture, his large arms resembling the consistency of those weird 80's toys with goo inside that you couldn't keep a grip on (the comparison was solely Peter's), "… apart from the rest of the galaxy… away from carnal temptations… in order to save it."

"We seek the great stone of legend… greater than those like it, which leads to the realm of paradise…" Another draw from his pipe. "Only by remaining pure of body and mind… can one hope to wield the stone, once it is found… and to make the great sacrifice needed to assume the power of the great stone—"

He made some sort of gesture that was hastily imitated by the priestesses.

"—the galaxy can be liberated from its current strife… to be purified… to ascend to the realm contained within the great stone… for eternity… in paradise… in rapture…"

The description went on a great deal longer until it was interrupted by a scoff. The scoffer wasn't subtle about it, either. The beady eyes of the priest whipped over to Thor.

Thor smiled unapologetically, "Oh, I've interrupted, haven't I? My apologies—won't happen again."

It was obvious the priest didn't buy this, but liked the sound of his own voice too much to be dissuaded.

"Though the rest of the galaxy tries to impede us from our task… through sabotage… slander…" His beady eyes became slits, "… theft."

Peter shook his head in disapproval, "People these days, right?"

"Now you guys _do _know that the stone's gone, right?" Rocket piped up, "Like, ashes. All of 'em."

It earned nothing more than a puff of smoke accompanying a huff.

"Impossible." He didn't even look in Rocket's direction, "The great stone can be destroyed by nothing."

"How about a ten-foot-tall purple asshole with a glove?"

It wasn't dignified with an answer.

"The stones are gone," Nebula said bluntly, "They were used in the galactic decimation, by a maniac. Then they were destroyed by him."

"But of course we got them back," Thor added, "Temporarily. And not the same stones exactly—they were from a different time, and were used to bring back everyone who was turned to dust… not everyone who perished at the hands of Thanos, unfortunately. Which… well, there were several…"

The following silence lingered long and uncomfortably.

Peter picked up the fumble, "Point is the stone's gone, bro. So you're just wasting your time here."

Their explanation (shoddiness aside) didn't even put a dent in the priest's certainty.

"The decimation was a divine event," he told them as if he'd been privy to the event itself, "A sign… a reflection of our future success… in purification…"

Rocket scrunched up his face, "But everyone came back, though?"

"Another divine event."

"Oh yeah, makes sense." He turned to Nebula on his right, "How'd I miss that. It's obvious, ain't it, Nebs?"

The restraints only jittered under the force of her sudden lunge towards him.

"Do _not_ call me that, _fox."_

The high priest seemed to finally have exhausted himself from lecturing, took a final draw from his pipe, and waved passively towards the group. "You will be contained here… until those we have contacted to collect you arrive… the holiness of the temple of the great stone cannot be tainted by what must be done to dispose of you."

Rocket snorted, "Honestly we'll take whatever you've got planned as opposed to more of this cult shit. And if you're gonna preach about "purity of body" or whatever, you might wanna set an example or something."

A priestess giggled. Every head turned. She disguised the outburst as a coughing fit.

"See? She gets it."

A lone priestess entered the dungeon, her face completely obscured by the large hood. She bowed hastily.

"High Priest Melka," she spoke lowly, "You're needed in the Holy Garden, urgently. Priest Korvek has requested your counsel."

The high priest unleashed a massive sigh, laced with annoyance.

"Urgent… in what way…?"

"A vision," she replied dramatically, clearly milking it, "Of the great stone."

He considered her carefully.

"… I suppose it would be too much to ask… for him to have his visions closer to this side of the temple."

Without granting the guardians a second glance, the high priest began his long, slow procession out, with priestesses following obediently. The guards closed the large doors behind the group, remaining inside with the newly arrived priestess, who lingered by the wayside.

The moment the doors thundered shut, Peter let out his own exasperated groan.

"He spoke for quite a while," Mantis commented, sounding bored.

"Yeah no kidding," Peter agreed, "Alright, so escape plan time. What's everybody got? Nebula? Drax?"

"I am Groot."

"What do you mean he's asleep?" Peter strained his neck to see past the line of guardians, but had little success.

"He has been this way for a while," Mantis added helpfully.

"We shouldda just gone with that plan," Rocket mumbled.

"Okay fuzzball," Peter snapped, "If you wanna talk shit, then you'd better have a plan to back it up."

"I'm _thinking_, alright?" he shot right back, "It's a lot more than you can say, Quill!"

"Don't worry," Thor assured, "This should be simple. I'll free us shortly."

"Whoa whoa—now hold on," Peter cut in, "Before you try _anything, _tell me what you're gonna do."

"I'll summon Stormbreaker to me," he explained, as if to an idiot, "Summon a great deal of energy—as I do. Often. And easily. I'm sure you have experience."

Peter ground his teeth, "And after that?"

"I use that energy to overload the…" He nodded above them, "Whatever that is."

"And potentially fry us all in the process," Rocket added.

Thor considered it.

"We won't know until we try."

"That's not something I wanna find out!" Peter argued, "So _no, _we're not doing that!"

"I'll just summon a _little _bit of lighting," Thor bargained, "How about that?"

"No!" Peter blurted, "I'm not going to risk us getting electrocuted to death just so you can show off!"

"You think you can aim your fancy axe somewhere else besides your hand?" Rocket asked past Peter, "I got a target in mind; we might haveta deal with the splatter, though."

Peter fixed him with a glare, "How's that plan coming, Meeko?"

_"I know what that is," _Rocket spat angrily, "And when we get back to the ship I'm gonna add some "features" to your stupid tacky helmet!"

Nebula had tuned out their bickering long ago, watching the scene that was unfolding in the dungeon before her.

The guards had resumed their "watch," leaning against their electric spears or the gaudy polished walls. But the priestess was on high alert, creeping subtly towards the nearest guard. She kept her attention centered on him as she moved, trying to conceal whatever she had planned.

Then, when she was within reach, she lashed out with a leg and swept the spear out from beneath him. He stumbled forward, and the priestess' knee broke his fall as it was driven into the side of his head.

She collected the spear and wielded it clumsily against the rapidly approaching second guard, able to divert the initial swipe at her head and duck under the next. The priestess scrambled backwards to distance herself from the electrified end of the guard's spear, only to trip on the hem of her long robe and wipe out across her back.

As the guard raised his spear, Nebula called out to him. And the moron fell for it.

His attention diverted, the priestess fired up her own spear, then hurled it forward. There was a scream. It soon descended into mere whimpering.

The priestess rose to her feet, took a second to rub the back of her head, then approached the imprisoned guardians. She offered a wave towards Nebula.

"Thanks." She looked over the group, face still obscured by the now ruffled robe, "So… which one of you guys were blasting Billy Joel a couple minutes ago?"

The argument taking place amongst half of the team subsided suddenly. Peter looked baffled.

"Uh. What?"

"I've been keeping an eye out for something, _anything _Earth related for six years now," she explained, with a drawl only slightly stronger than Peter's, "Humans, music, a friggin' candy wrapper—got nothing. Until I heard _My Life _and a whole lotta screaming coming down the hallway."

It was met with blank stares.

She sighed, sounding impatient, and swept the hood off her head. Shamrock green curls stuck out like a sore thumb against the orange robes, framing her oval face and wide eyes. But she offered the first smile they'd received since arriving there.

"Hi," she breathed, "Fellow human. Or, terran. Whatever it is they're calling us."

Peter nodded, "Hey. And—not a total human, just half but. That's the good half. So."

She looked between the team members, "Alright… so who's the captain, here?"

"Me." Peter and Rocket answered simultaneously.

"Uh, no you're not. It's me."

"I think I'd know who the captain is, Quill. Being him, anyway."

"You can't even reach the wheel from the captain's chair."

"You can't even fit in the seatbelt of the captain's chair!"

The priestess, after realizing this would take time she didn't want to give, slowly side-stepped to stand before Nebula.

"I think I'm gunna defer to you."

"Good."

"Okay," the priestess clasped her hands together and used them to point at Nebula, "So I'll keep it short and sweet; I'll let y'all out of the electric trap thing, and see if I can't get you back to your ship."

"For what," Nebula asked flatly.

She grinned in embarrassment, "Well… I mean, I hope you don't mind me trying to bargain, but like… it's the perfect time to—"

"What do you want."

The priestess stopped talking briefly, but recovered, "A ride out of here and a drop-off back at Earth."

Nebula didn't even flinch, "Deal."

"Hey!" Peter cut in, "I didn't say you could—"

"I don't need permission," Nebula answered without looking at him.

The priestess awkwardly edged away from the confrontation, busying herself by returning to one of the guards to collect the electrical spear. When his groans became louder at her approach, she hissed, "Look, I'm sorry—I didn't even stab you that hard."

She brought it back to the imprisonment device, fiddling with something on the outer casing of the frame. A panel was opened, and her eyebrows shot up several inches.

"Uh," Rocket spoke up, "You know what you're doing?"

"...Uh-huh."

"Are you _sure_?"

She raised the electrical spear, which came to life in her hands.

"Probably."

And then she jammed it into the exposed wiring.

After an ear-splittingly loud fizzle, the electricity suspending the guardians vanished with a crackle. Dropping them unceremoniously onto the immaculately polished floor with a wave of shrieks, cursing, and clanks of the metal restraints.

The only two to remain upright were Nebula, who did so of her own accord, and Thor, who the priestess only just managed to grab, as he was the nearest to where she stood.

"Sorry!" she blurted, "I thought it would- y'all okay?"

"No!" Mantis responded, struggling to rise. By now, Drax had the decency to wake up and join them, yawning something about "waiting for the right time to act."

While the guardians freed themselves from the deactivated restraints, the priestess considered Thor curiously.

"So this might sound weird," she began, "But has anyone ever told you that you look a helluva lot like Thor? The Avenger?"

He smiled, "A few."

"He _is _Thor," Rocket spoiled the fun quickly. The priestess' eyes went wide with shock, and a grin followed as an afterthought.

"Oh!" She blinked, "Hey! Yeah, I totally see it now—sorry, last time I saw you was some TV spot a long time ago. Didn't recognize you because of the…" Words were considered carefully, "The beard, I think. It's different."

Peter wasn't nearly as tactful, "Yeah, that's the thing that sticks out most."

It took a lot of fumbling for everyone to get free, but once they were, weapons were recollected and the great escape began. The priestess poked her head out of the doorway, then beckoned for them to follow her. As a massive group, they slunk through empty halls in a silent yet hasty manner.

She stopped them at a corner, listening carefully. Footsteps were receding from an unknown direction, echoing off every surface.

"So I heard… Peter?" she asked in a whisper, gesturing to him, "For a name?'

"Yeah, Peter Quill." He replied, "Or Star Lord. Either one."

She nodded, then pointed at herself, "Cool. Lorna Dane." Lorna looked to Rocket, "You?"

"Bastard the Rat," Peter answered for him, "Who'd better _stop stealing my Zune."_

"If you don't want me stealing it, then you'd better start hiding it better," Rocket snapped, "And I'm not a frickin' rat, Star Munch."

Lorna continued to lead the group, stopping frequently to listen for other priestesses, and using the time to get introductions out of the way—reception was mixed.

"I am Groot."

"Hi. Lorna."

"He always says that," Mantis told her, "It is how he talks. Instead of speaking like you or me, he just says "I am Groot," and it means many different things."

"Oh." Lorna grinned apologetically, "Sorry about that. What did he say?"

Mantis smiled brightly, "I am Groot."

"… yeah, but… like, what did that mean?"

"I am Groot!"

Lorna looked helplessly between them.

Nebula made a low, aggravated sound, "The tree is _called_ Groot. Now stop wasting time and go back to what you agreed to do and lead us."

"… Didn't catch your name, ma'am?"

She gave a glare instead. Lorna stuck to the front of the group after that.

The temple slowly showed less signs of life, so their creeping devolved into a cautious stroll. The head of the group found it impossible to walk without talking.

"—_Movin' Out _'s pretty good," Peter offered, scratching the side of his nose while he spoke, "I'm trying to think of more…"

Rocket took out the Zune and started flipping through, slapping away Peter's hand when he made a grab for it, "_You May be Right, Matter of Trust—_that one's pretty whatever."

"_Scenes from an Italian Restaurant?" _Lorna offered.

"Takes too long," Rocket shot down.

"I mean yeah it's long," she argued, "But it's a cool story-type thing. Y'know?"

Nebula cut into their conversation, "Is this the most important thing to be doing right now?"

"It's _fine," _Peter assured, "We're paying attention—and _Vienna. _That one's good."

Lorna made a quiet sound, "I love _Vienna. _'s probably my favorite one."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, "Think my mom liked that one a lot."

"Aw." A thought came to Lorna's mind, "Wait, no I lied. _We Didn't Start the Fire. _That's the best one."

It was met with dumb looks.

"Dunno that one."

"You know Billy Joel and you don't know _We Didn't Start the Fire?"_

"Guess so."

"That makes no sense. It's the most iconic one."

"Well that doesn't suddenly make me know it!" Rocket snapped.

Their "vital" debate was halted when Lorna recognized what they were standing before: the least decorative and showy door in the entire temple.

"Here we go." She pushed against one of the doors, but when it provided no give, she huffed.

"Of course it can't just be unlocked." Lorna jammed the electric spear into the lock and threw her weight into it, "That would be way too—ngh—easy!"

After a second and third attempt, something finally gave. The spear.

Nebula pushed past her without a word, ripping out the spear and inserting her own dagger. She began to twist and jam it in further, slowly making progress. Peter shot Thor an "I told you so" look in response.

"Explain to me how the hell you're from Earth and don't know _We Didn't Start the Fire?" _Lorna repeated.

"Yeah Quill," Rocket joined in, taunting, "Answer the question."

"I don't know, man!" Peter blurted, "It must've come out after I got abducted!"

"When was that?"

His eyes drifted upwards as he thought, as if trying to sort through mental cobwebs.

"Eighty… eight?"

Lorna shrugged, "I guess it mighta come out after that. Still not a good excuse though—I'll show it to you on my phone when we're outta here."

Peter blinked, "What?"

"I'll show you the song—"

"Yeah, I heard you. What do you mean on your phone?"

Lorna blinked in unison, feeling like she was talking to a wall.

"… I'll. Play the song. From my phone."

Peter looked at her like she'd sprouted another head, "How the hell are you gonna play music off a phone?"

The realization dawned on her.

"Oh. Wow. You're a lot older than you look, huh?"

The air was sucked out of the general vicinity by the group's collective intake of breath.

"_Oh shit," _Rocket whispered, grin evident in his voice.

With a click, Nebula disengaged the lock, and swiftly yet silently opened the door.

But that didn't count for much, as the faint sound was followed by Peter's affronted cry.

"I am not _old!"_

The guards inside the "Chamber of Contraband Goods and Remains of Those Who Sought to Steal from the Temple of the Great Stone" (for one reason or another they referred to it simply as the "Chamber of Stuff") probably wouldn't have heard the door opening on its own, which would have given the guardians a chance to sneak by, board their ship, and escape with minimal fuss.

But compliments of Peter, that was no longer the case.

And they made sure to let him know that as they began a charge for the Bentar.

"Well I'm not!" he retorted from behind his deployed helmet, sending a blast of energy into the nearest guard.

Nebula sprinted ahead, breaking free of the group and making a beeline for the ship. Anyone unfortunate enough to stand in her way was cast by the wayside—usually with a part of them missing. She hit a button on the device on her arm, opening the Bentar's main hatch, and didn't break her stride as she jumped inside.

Drax and Thor seemed to be having the most fun, working as a team to put any opponent between a rock and a hard place. It wasn't long before the guards had the sense to flee the two—which usually resulted in them running into Peter or Rocket. Which was equally painful.

Outside, their commotion had drawn the attention of more onlookers. Groot prevented their advance with a cascade of vines that snaked their way up its victims and rapidly started to squeeze.

Several snaps, cracks, and pops followed. Mantis cringed at the sound.

With a thunderous roar, the Bentar's engines blared to life. It rose above the rest of the garbage in the Chamber of Stuff, and Nebula opened fired: first on the remaining guards. Then the space above the doorway (Groot was able to avoid most of the falling debris, but shouted something nasty under the guise of "I am Groot" back at Nebula). And then, once the flow of guards and priests had ebbed, she fired at the opposite wall.

The lovingly and meticulously crafted stone of the temple wall was reduced to rubble. No one felt too bad about it. Especially since the new doorway it provided allowed daylight to spill in, displaying a sure-fire escape from this nuthouse.

Nebula lowered the Bentar to a hover just above the ground, allowing the guardians the climb into the ship one by one. Once everyone was boarded, the hatch practically snapped shut, and Nebula sped out of there.

"Hey, Thor," Rocket commented, "You left your toy behind."

"No worries." He walked over to the sole window in the ship's lower quarters, looking out at the shrinking temple. He raised his hand…

Stormbreaker came rocketing out of one of the temple's walls, adorning it with a large blemish of a hole. The corridor it was supporting began to crumble as well.

"My mistake." He peered back at Lorna, "Sorry."

"For what?"

She joined him at the window, getting full view of the destruction they'd caused.

"Oof." Lorna stared for a second longer before fixing Thor with a smirk, "Personally, I think you missed a spot."

He beamed, "So do I."

Stormbreaker shot back towards the temple. It now had one less pinnacle.

"Much better."


	4. Gumption, Moxy, and Chutzpah

"—and _I'm _saying you screwed us over!" Peter tossed one of his guns onto the table to join the trash and dirty wrappers on top, "I don't care if you've got a magic flying axe that shoots lighting; you don't have to use it for everything!"

Thor was reclined in a chair not built for reclining, a smug look sitting comfortably on his face.

"So you're telling me that if you owned a magic flying axe that shoots lighting, you wouldn't be using it constantly?"

Peter opened his mouth, then shut it, "No."

"Of course not."

"I wouldn't!" he insisted, "I'd have more sense than that!"

"You wouldn't, Quill," Drax denied, speaking as he passed by, "No one would." He paused a moment, "Especially you."

"It got us inside, didn't it?" Thor reasoned.

"Yeah, so we could go in and get stabbed by duded with electric sticks!"

Thor nodded slightly, "Inside, though."

Peter's reply was drowned out by Rocket's groan, then the clatter of junk that he cleared off the table as he hopped up onto it.

"Would you two shut up?" he snapped, ignoring the general bitching Peter was giving him for scuffing up his gun, "If you're gonna keep talking, then at least be useful and figure out what the hell we're supposed to do now."

Bickering seemed to be put aside for the time being; Thor stopped slouching, Peter crossed his arms.

"Okay," Peter replied, "So. Soul stone."

"We know we can't get that," Rocket commented, "But we gotta get to the "soul realm" or whatever without it. However that's supposed to work."

"Which no one seems to know much, if anything, about," Thor added.

"Yeah, you'd think a bunch of weirdos who spend all their time looking for stuff about it would have a lot more than what they did," Peter commented bitterly, "So that was a waste of time."

"We kidnapped a priestess!" Mantis piped up helpfully, having been sitting quietly up to now.

"We didn't kidnap her," Peter reasoned, "She just sorta came with."

Rocket rolled his eyes, "Are we actually planning to drop her off at Earth, or… y'know, make her someone else's problem?"

Thor made a sound of disapproval, "Come now, rabbit."

"I'm just saying!"

"Maybe she knows something about the soul realm that could be helpful," Mantis offered, "We could ask."

"And if she doesn't," Rocket cut in, "Then we all know how to work the airlock door."

Their attention was drawn by an opening door—Lorna was met with four sets of staring eyes. She stopped, stared right back, and slowly raised her hand in a wave.

"Howdy."

"Is that my shirt?"

"Is it?" She resumed the process of tying back her wet hair, low on her head, "It was on the floor."

"Why do you need _my _shirt, though?" Peter questioned.

"I'm not gunna keep wearing those bedsheets," she replied simply, "And all that I had under it was this stupid bikini-looking thing."

Peter shrugged, "I mean. You could just stick with that; I don't see a problem with it."

Lorna fixed him with a flat look.

"Mr. Quill," she began, sounding suddenly like a lecturing school teacher, "When were you born?"

He made a face at the question, "Uh. '80?"

"Uh-huh." She gestured to herself, "2000. So that's what, twenty years after you?"

His expression shifted to one resembling dawning horror and something akin to motion sickness.

"_Oh."_

"Yeah, _oh."_

"Okay Greenie," Rocket said impatiently, "This is fun and all, but I got something else for you to explain."

She turned her attention to him, "What's up?"

"You were hanging out with those soul stone nuts; what do you know about it?"

"The soul stone?"

"Yeah."

Lorna shrugged, "Other than what y'all were saying about it being gone? Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nope."

"How long were you there?" Thor asked her, sounding more curious than accusatory, "At the temple?"

"Uhh…" She scrunched up her face, thinking, "… like. Maybe a year? Something like that?"

"And you learned nothing in all that time?"

"It got to a point where it was my goal to tune out as much as possible."

Rocket nodded covertly to the airlock door. He was ignored for now.

"What did you guys even want from there?" she questioned, "If you knew the stone was destroyed or whatever?"

"Trying to get to the soul realm," Peter answered shortly.

"Why?"

The question was met with an uneasy silence.

Lorna's eyes shifted between the group, "... that all I'm gunna get in terms of explanation, then?"

"Why's it your business?" Rocket demanded, crossing his arms.

"… alright, cool. Not suspicious at all." She scratched a spot at the back of her neck, "I mean, they had a bunch of artifacts and stuff that people try to steal once in a while, but no one's ever really done it before—" Something clicked, "Oh wait. Duh. Yeah they have: the old book."

Peter perked up, "What old book?"

"There's supposed to be this old book that some priest found," Lorna explained, "They said it's got some part in it talking about the soul stone or realm or something related to it. They kept it in this big gold trunk that we weren't allowed to look at because it was "too holy for the impure"." Her tone and face both displayed her thoughts on the matter, "Sure didn't stop it from being stolen."

Thor made a sound of thought, "I think we found that box."

"If it was empty, then yeah. That's the one."

"You got any idea who managed to steal it?" Peter asked.

"Some cult guy," she answered, "It was like, a month ago by now. He and a buncha people basically stormed the place and swiped it. They must've had an idea of what they were looking for, because that's all they took." Lorna broke into a smile, "The priests were losing their shit after that. Like, "ancient Roman funeral mourners" style losing it. Last time I saw something like that was when our football team had to suspend a buncha guys and people like, _rioted _over it because it was gonna make us blow the season-"

"Hey," Rocket snapped his fingers, "Back on track. Where'd they go?"

"It was…" She huffed a breath, "I heard them say something about where the cult guys are apparently hiding, now. Some super small, obscure planet in the middle of nowhere. Pretty far from the temple."

"Doesn't exactly narrow it down," Rocket replied, "It's space. Everything's in the middle of nowhere."

"You know what I mean. Super small- as in moon-sized."

"Yeah that doesn't help either. Lots of moons out there."

"Earth moon. _Small_."

"There we go," he continued to give her a hard time, "Was that so hard?"

Outside of a pointed look, she ignored the taunting, "I don't know the name off the top of my head. I'd know it if I heard it, though."

Peter touched something on the side of the table; a holographic display materialized from the center, and he sorted through it to find what he was looking for.

"Can you read this?" He pointed to a line of alien writing.

"No sirree."

"Rocket, read 'em off as you go through."

He groaned, "You do it."

"Can't." He started up the stepladder that led to the cockpit, "Gonna go tell Gozer what we're doing."

Lorna snickered at the reference. She was the only one who did.

Nebula was silent in the pilot's chair, hands squarely on the wheel (it wasn't a wheel in the sense that it wasn't round; a "steering joystick things" was probably the more accurate term, but if it was up to the captain—and Peter insisted it was—then the damn thing was a wheel) and eyes locked on the empty space before them.

Peter knew his arrival was noticed, but not acknowledged as usual.

"Man," he commented, "It's dead in here. Want some tunes?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

He was pretty sure of it before he asked, but did so anyway; he knew she loved it.

"If you didn't hear what was going on down there," he explained, "The green-haired kid's gonna try to give us a lead. Something about a cult and a book or something…" Peter made a face, "Wasn't so long ago I figured cult shit was just an earth thing."

"Wherever there are people," Nebula replied evenly, "There are idiots who choose bigger idiots to lead them."

Peter cracked a smile at the comment, "Not like us, right?"

She offered a frown and nothing else. When silence followed, Peter repressed a sigh.

_Always love our little talks, Nebs._

The longer he sat there, the more restless he became. It was relatively easy to ignore at first, pacified by bouncing his foot against the floor. But it grew. The pressure to talk about the invisible yet oppressive elephant in the room. It would be like talking to a blue brick wall. But.

Well, she'd get it. It'd be her sister they'd be talking about.

… if at all.

Peter kept his mouth shut.

Nebula released an audible breath, a quick huff.

"We have time."

He flinched a little at the bare-bones reassurance.

"Yeah," he answered a little too quickly to be casual, "Yeah, I know."

"Provided we aren't killed on the way."

This was more like what he was used to. "That too."

Silence again.

"… we'll figure something out," Peter said. It was forced. "We're gonna."

Nebula finally followed through with eye contact. But nothing else.

Peter endured it for a few seconds for standing to hook up his Zune to the ship's sound system. Nebula didn't try to stop him.

* * *

"Ferrol?" Rocket read off flatly.

"No."

"Ell-N?"

"No."

"Kymer?"

"No."

"Good. That place is _weird_." He kept scrolling. "Anything you wanna give me to be useful?"

Lorna sighed, "I'm trying to be useful. The name ended with an r. Started with either a d, f, or g. And it was small."

"So that's a no, then."

She frowned, but it soon perked up into a smirk, "I couldda given you nothing."

"Uh-huh." He typed something in and kept scrolling, chin in his other hand. "So. Terran."

"Yep."

"And you wanna go back there?"

"Sooner or later, yeah."

He shrugged, "As someone who's been there, I can't see why."

"Totally fair."

Conversation consisted of more planet names that meant nothing to her.

"You sure it was a planet and not just a moon?" he asked.

She gave him a dumb look, "Is... there a big difference?"

Rocket buried his face in his hands.

"_Is there a big difference_," he repeated, almost lamenting.

"Oh, cut me some slack!" she insisted, "I had other things to do in school besides paying attention in astronomy! If I knew I was gonna get yeeted up into space and left there, I would've taken notes!"

Rather than following his initial plan of action (it involved clawing out a pair of eyes, but he hadn't decided whose), he simply added moons to his ever-growing list of things to scroll through.

"Desmir," he read off, then continued without waiting for her reply, "Glomar, Fjar-Hor, Dokyr, Dabr."

"No. Sorry."

More scrolling.

"And before you screw it up even more," he added, eyes beginning to glaze over as he resigned himself to the oncoming headache, "Since I got enough of it on Earth and I'm gonna murder the next person who says it to my face, I'll tell you this one time: I am _not_ a _goddamned_ _raccoon_."

Lorna responded immediately, "Oh, I know."

"Good."

"Yeah, you're a Halfworlder."

"Glier, Fleubar, Do—" Then her response actually registered in his brain. He froze in the middle of a scroll.

"Hey, what was the—"

"What."

"What?"

He wasn't slouching anymore. "What the hell did you say?"

She caught the abrupt change in tone, and hesitated before answering.

"… that. You're a Halfworlder?" Now she reconsidered it, "Right?"

"How do you know that."

Lorna stared at him like a deer in headlight and carefully measured out her reply.

"I... get around."

"To Halfworld?"

Something in her face twitched.

"Half of it."

The fur on the back of his neck bristled, "Which half?"

They engaged in a wordless standoff. After a moment, Lorna slowly reached forward and scrolled back to one of the previous moons.

"Which one was this?"

Rocket didn't answer immediately.

"… Glier."

She scrolled forward. "So this is Fleubar?"

"Yeah."

Lorna rolled the word around in her mouth a few times. "Fleubar." She nodded, "I think... it's that one."

"You think." It was clipped.

"It sounds right." She withdrew her hand, "What does this say about it?"

Rocket unwillingly complied, "Moon. Used to be around a planet. Now it's not. Has a shitty atmosphere. No one's supposed to be living on it."

"… well. That's prime cult-location, right?"

"Mm."

She stood from the table, "I do think it's there."

He didn't argue; the stupid moon was the last thing he cared about.

"How did you know—"

Lorna was halfway up the cockpit ladder and acted as if she hadn't heard him.

Rocket peered around almost instinctively to make sure no one else had heard. He was alone in the common-room area.

There was a familiar cold pit in his stomach. It made him scowl, and he vacated the table to search for anything else to do. Shooting something expensive would be a good start.

* * *

_"Needed something to ease my troubled mind  
Listen, my father didn't know the meaning of work  
He disrespected mama, and treated us like dirt  
I left home, seekin' a job that I never did find  
Depressed and downhearted I took to cloud nine  
I'm doin' fine, up here on cloud nine…"_

The music served as a backdrop to the group's leisure activities; a course was set for Fleubar, and it would be a little while of waiting before they got there.

So they did what any group of killers, vigilantes, thieves and anarchists would do when they had time to kill: they played paper football.

Mantis and Drax had taken over the table for their match, and despite the fact that neither had managed to score in the past ten turns, they were _deeply _entrenched in in the game.

Nebula had plenty of dark corners on the ship to brood in, and she was using this one to sit and polish one of the many knives she had collected (stolen) over the past few months. It wasn't the distraction she'd wanted from the two's game, but she was too stubborn to admit defeat.

With Rocket and Peter in the cockpit, that left Thor and Groot, who were currently engaged in an arm-wrestling rematch-rematch, and Lorna, who'd buried herself in her phone and gotten comfortable there.

After another few failed shots of the small paper football, Nebula couldn't take it anymore.

The next thing Mantis knew, there was a knife embedded in the table. And Nebula was standing over it.

"You're doing it wrong."

Mantis blinked up at her with wide, frightened eyes.

"I—I am?"

"Move."

She practically leapt up in order to comply, and Nebula took her spot in front of Drax. Almost as second nature, Nebula supported the paper by its point, aimed, and flicked. The paper football spun as it sailed through Drax's hands.

Mantis gasped, "You did it so easily!"

"I did it correctly." Nebula rose to her feet quickly and started to return to her corner.

"How?"

She stopped. Then walked back.

"Hold it at the point. With a finger—no. Don't hold it _down." _Nebula swiped the paper to show them, "Stand it. With minimal resistance." She put it back on the table. "Do it."

Mantis complied; when she flicked it this time, it flew much further. Off the table.

Drax laughed, "You will not win like this."

Nebula's head turned sharply, "Now you do it."

His own shot sailed over Mantis' head—she yelped as she ducked to avoid it.

Nebula huffed, "Hopeless."

"Can you show us again?" Mantis asked sweetly.

She felt a strange sensation in her cheeks… like, an unfamiliar stretch.

_"No."_

Nebula couldn't stalk back to the corner fast enough.

Mantis nervously spoke up, "Um, Nebula? Would you like me to return your knife—"

"I have others!" she snapped.

It coincided with a thud, then a hearty laugh from Thor.

Groot groaned, "I am Groot!"

"We can do as many rematches as you'd like, tree," Thor chuckled, "But I don't think much will change."

"I am Groot."

Thor shook his head, holding a hand up in defense, "I did no such thing—and I didn't comment on your cheating, now did I?" He reached over and clapped Groot on the shoulder, "Perhaps one day. But not today."

Not to be deterred, Groot looked over at Drax, "I am Groot!"

"Of course I could," he replied evenly, eyes not moving from the paper football.

"Can you?" Thor challenged.

Drax missed his paper shot. He locked eyes with Thor.

"Yes."

"Then come and show me, my friend."

The two were soon squaring up for an arm-wrestling match, sitting on either side of the large cargo container they were using for a table. Without much formality, the match began.

At first, their fists remained perfectly upright as the two struggled against one another. But it didn't take long for the slow, gradual momentum to begin. In Thor's favor.

Drax started to lean forward, putting more of his weight into it; Thor remained upright, his other hand resting on the table. A minute passed, and the free hand shifted into a loose fist.

For that entire minute, the advantage barely shifted. And then, it seemed, Thor began to try for real.

In a few excruciating to see seconds, Thor forced Drax's hand down to the table. It earned a shout of defeat, and he laughed again.

"Ha! It was a fair challenge!" he assured, holding out his hand towards Drax. Who, though pouting, shook it.

Thor peered around at the group, "Who's next?"

Rubbing his hand, Drax turned to look at the cockpit stairs.

"Make Quill do it."

Thor laughed, "Oh I don't think—"

"He'll lose," Drax continued.

"Yes, I know."

Mantis peered up into the cockpit and called out, "Peter! Come lose at arm wrestling against Thor!"

There was a scoff, "I'm flying right now."

"No you're not," Rocket said, "I'm taking over. Go lose to Thor."

"I'm not gonna—" The statement didn't make it to completion before the challenge overtook Peter. After a groan and a series of bootsteps on metal, he was in the common area with the rest of them.

"Look," Peter tried to temper the situation, "I'm not really feeling it, alright? Shoulder's still screwed up from getting thrown around back at the temple and—"

"I can hear you whining from up here!" Rocket shouted down, "Get in there and lose already!"

Peter replied automatically, "I'm not whin—I'm not gonna _lose, _okay?"

Thor seized his chance, "Oh you aren't?"

It was met with a series of half-completed, half-assed half-excuses.

Groot scoffed, "I am Groot."

"No I'm not stalling!"

"I am Groot."

"I—hey!" He snapped his fingers, "Watch your mouth."

"And now," Thor said with a grin, "I believe you are stalling."

With that the jacket came off. And Peter sat across from Thor.

… the match was much shorter and less dignified than Drax's. It took mere seconds.

Mantis and Drax supported each other through their laughter. Peter pretended not to hear it.

"That was pathetic!" Drax howled with laughter, "The god-man could have torn your arm off in the same amount of time!"

"Yeah thanks," Peter huffed, "Thanks Drax."

"It was like he was bending a flower stalk!"

"I get it."

"A weak, wilting flower stalk!"

"_I get the picture." _

He picked up his jacket and gestured at the two of them, "Why don't you go, Mantis?"

She giggled, "No, I do not want to lose pathetically like you did."

"Nah, I mean it," Peter repeated, "Go ahead. Show me up."

Mantis stopped laughing long enough to see he was serious; she looked between Peter and Thor with confusion.

"But I will not win?"

"You could," Peter told her.

She took a long look at Thor. Her hair bounced as she shook her head.

"I cannot."

Thor took the opportunity to join in, "It's just a game—for fun. Come on." He nodded reassuringly, "I promise I won't bend your arm like a flower stalk."

Peter breathed in sharply from his nose, "Bro—"

Mantis uncertainly walked over to the spot opposite Thor, sitting down and hesitantly taking his hand.

"You got this, Mantis," Lorna called over, eyes not moving away from her phone, "Go easy on him."

Peter, still grumpy from the undignified loss, put that aside for now, "Show him what guardians are made of, Mantis!"

The two began to push against one another's hands. There was no stalling like with Drax; instantly Thor began to pull ahead.

Even still, Peter crouched down to be at eye-level, "Come on Mantis! You got this!"

She struggled, clearly with all of her strength, but it didn't make a dent.

And then, with a sudden jerk, their hands were upright. Thor's eyes widened considerably.

"Whoa—" Peter jumped back, hands at his head in shock, "Whoa _whoa! _That's what I'm talking about!"

Drax joined him at the outburst, jaw slacked in utter disbelief. Their hands began to shift… towards Thor's _loss._

He sat up in his seat, putting more of his strength into it. But it didn't dip back into his favor; it continued, slowly, to slip away from him inch by inch.

Peter was absolutely losing his shit, clapping like this was a sporting event, "_Take him down, Mantis!" _He began to chant her name repeatedly, and after a few times, Drax joined in with equal enthusiasm.

Their hands were at the halfway point. Thor, a look of shock plastered across his face, was visibly struggling. Inch by tantalizing inch, Thor's hand came closer to the metal container, like it was being drawn steadily towards it.

And then, with a clear, resounding clang, the metal band he wore on his wrist collided with the container's surface. Pandemonium ensued.

While Mantis was congratulated by a gob smacked Peter and Drax, Thor seemed like he was reevaluating his life up to that point. He peered over at Lorna, who was making it look like she hadn't been watching the match take place.

"Nice of you to go easy on her, god of thunder," she called over.

His smile was baffled, "I wasn't."

Lorna smirked over her phone, "Whatever you say."

Peter gave Mantis a well-meaning pat on the back. Drax did the same—he didn't think it necessary to be gentle. The results were… clearly visible.

Thor was still fixing his attention on Lorna, mulling something over in his mind.

"Why don't you try?"

She waved him away, "Nah, I'm good. We can't all be as strong as Mantis."

He tapped a few fingers on the metal container. And shelved the incident away in his mind.

For later.

"Of course."


	5. Jello: Meat, Vegetable, or Other?

Outside the Bentar, a cluster of starts could be seen in the distance. Peeking through clouds of pinkish space dust, they almost seemed to twinkle

The guardians had seen _plenty _of space scenery for one lifetime, and as such, the sight was ignored.

Peter checked the coordinates again, as he'd done multiple times in the past ten minutes.

"_Fleubar_?"

"That's what Greenie said." Rocket was distracted by the device in his hands, tapping at it occasionally.

"Course it's gotta be in the middle of bumfuck nowhere," he lamented, "And we can't just jump—"

"Hey, go take it up with the one who said "Oh we don't need to stop and get a charge for the jump drive, we'll be fine!" Now who was that again…?" He looked up pointedly from the device, "Oh right: you!"

Peter rolled his eyes, "Alright, furball, get off my dick." He glanced back again, "What is that?"

"The kid's phone."

"Wh—why the hell did you—dude, put that back."

Rocket was utterly undeterred, "If she didn't want me going through it, then she should've put a better password on it."

Knowing there was no point in a further attempt, Peter went back to the screen in front of him.

"… so uh. What's on there, anyway?"

"Whole lotta pictures she took of herself." It was laced with disdain, "Guess she ain't got much access to mirrors."

Peter turned around fully in his chair, "Yeah?"

"Go back to flying you goddamned creep."

"Says the one _going through her phone!" _Peter shot back. He distracted himself with the planetary database on Fleubar—all two paragraphs of it.

"So," he began again, "Any idea how we're planning to find a cult full of people on… a small-ass moon? With no plant life? Or trace of civilization?" He looked back, "Or anything?"

Rocket threw up his hands.

"Great. Cool. Awesome." Peter rubbed his eyes, "After this we make it a policy to not have any dealings with cults or religious nuts."

"I'm not arguing with ya."

* * *

Nebula had been taught many, many things since she was a child. Some of them stuck, and some she'd worked ceaselessly to unstick.

_Sleep is for the weak _is one that stuck.

While the guardians slept, filling the lines of cubbies and slabs of old foam that served as a poor excuse for cushioning, Nebula made her rounds. The cockpit, where she checked their course. The common room, to ensure nothing had moved in her absence. And back again.

She turned after descending the stepladder—Mantis sat patiently at the table, in wait.

Nebula didn't even flinch, "What do you want?"

Mantis seemed unfazed by the harsh greeting, "What are you doing?"

"Piloting."

"Isn't that easier to do in the piloting chair?"

"It's fixed on route—I don't _need _to be there."

"Then why are you piloting?"

Nebula's patience for this conversation evaporated. She climbed the ladder back to the cockpit.

Mantis didn't take the hint, walking over to stand beneath the entryway.

"Were you watching the arm-wrestling competition today?" She was glowing with pride, "I was able to defeat the pirate-angel-man."

"He let you win."

"That does not make sense," she argued, "You are supposed to try to win at games like that."

Nebula sat in the pilot's chair, "He was pitying you."

There wasn't an immediate answer.

"Why am I pitiable?"

Nebula said nothing.

Mantis' head appeared from behind the chair "I said—"

She couldn't help but flinch, blindsided by the appearance. It made Mantis squeak, hands up in defense.

"_Don't_," Nebula warned sharply, "_Do that."_

"Sorry!" Mantis replied quickly, "I did not mean to scare you!"

She sat up, collected.

"I wasn't scared," Nebula said stiffly.

"But you—"

"I wasn't scared."

Her glare broke through Mantis' insistence.

"Oh."

The distraction only lasted a moment, "Why am I pitiable?"

Nebula inhaled slowly, debating a response.

"Because."

"Because?"

"You are not strong."

Mantis looked offended, "I am strong!"

A raised eyebrow was the only break in Nebula's mask of an expression.

"Are you."

She crossed her arm stubbornly, "Yes!"

Someone was raiding the fridge in the common area. Glasses clinked and packages crinkled.

"How do you know that?"

"I have fought several people and won," she insisted, "And I can sense the emotions of others!"

"How does that make you strong?" Nebula questioned.

Mantis paused.

"… it. Is strong because no one else can do it." The statement rose up at the end like a question: she wanted affirmation.

She came to the wrong person for it.

"That isn't strength."

There was a belch from below.

Nebula stood, looking down at Mantis. For a moment all she saw was a trembling child: small, innocent. Naïve. There must've been a time where she'd been the same way.

But it was a long time ago. And it hadn't served her in the slightest. She wouldn't let that same sort of blindness take another victim.

"There are others—several others—who are stronger than you." Nebula spoke with severity, "And they would kill you, if they wanted, with ease. And you would not even injure them."

The pep talk wasn't having the effect she'd expected; Mantis' eyes were wide, and she seemed to cower from what was being said.

"… so. Do something about it."

Mantis spoke quietly, "Like… what?"

…

Nothing. She could think of nothing.

… nothing.

"I don't know."

Mantis turned her eyes down her hands, folded over her lap.

"Oh."

Nebula couldn't pull herself away from the conversation fast enough; she descended the stepladder without a second glance. Mantis didn't follow her.

* * *

Peter headed straight for the fridge, food the only thing on his mind. He met Lorna there, who was purveying the contents like it was an exam.

"Hey Mr. Quill?"

"Don't—it's Peter. You're making me feel old."

She grinned at him over her shoulder, "You do that all by yourself. Anyways I was gunna say: I don't recognize any of this stuff."

"What are you wanting?"

"Ideally something that's not gunna make me puke. Is that a reasonable option?"

Peter pushed past her and started to fish through the clutter. He pulled out a white plastic container and handed it over, "Here."

"… this." She held it up, "Is blue jello."

"It's a protein brick," he corrected, "Don't worry, it tastes like teriyaki chicken."

"I can almost guarantee you that something with a jello texture isn't gunna pull off chicken."

"Tell me I'm a liar after you try it!"

Lorna accepted the challenge, peeling back the lid and using the tiny spoon hidden beneath it. She gathered up a generous scoop and shoveled it into her mouth.

Only to let it drop out and back into the container.

"That is the most disgusting-ass thing I have _ever _put into my mouth." The voice didn't match her words, but it somehow made the statement even more potent.

Peter snickered, "Ever?"

She looked him dead in the eyes, "I've had a lot of experience in the field of "putting gross shit in my mouth," Mr. Quill. I know what I'm saying."

He groaned in disgust, "Jesus—don't put stuff in your mouth that's not supposed to be there."

Lorna laughed, immediately firing back, "Remember what I said about you makin' yourself feel old? Well there you go."

"I'm not old!" he barked, accompanying it with a laugh, "Come on, the eighties weren't that long ago!"

"1980 was like, forty-three years ago, Mr. Quill!"

All the color left his face.

_"Christ."_

Lorna spooned up another glob of chicken-jello, resigning herself to it, "Old. Ancient." She spoke through a mouthful, "Geriatric."

When Drax came into view, Peter seized his chance for a character witness.

"Drax!" he blurted, "Drax, hey, back me up—I'm not old, right?"

He stared at Peter.

"I don't know how old you are, Quill."

"No, I'm not _old," _he emphasized, "I'm still young! You know—in the prime of my life!" As if to convince himself, he flexed a bicep, "Fit! In good shape!"

Drax blinked and said simply, "Your muscles have much to be desired, Quill."

"What are you talking abo—these?!" He pulled up a sleeve, convinced it would clear thing up, "These guns?"

"I see no guns," Drax commented, "Only your arms. Spindly as they are."

Lorna almost choked on her food, succumbing to laughter.

Peter grabbed the first thing he touched from the fridge, slammed it shut, and started up the stepladder.

"By the way," he shot back at Lorna, "You're grounded."

"I'm not a kid!"

"And I'm not old! And _now you know how it feels!"_

It only worsened her laughing fit.

* * *

Rocket scratched himself under the chin, scrutinizing the gaggle of wires in front of him.

"Hey Nebs," he called over without looking back, "You wanna hand me that uh…" He made a pinching gesture with his hand, the word escaping him.

She surveyed the collection of tools spread across the floor and picked up the spring-clamp, handing it over.

"Thanks." He used it to clip a majority of the wires out of his way, giving him access to the plate beneath. Pieces of the blaster he was currently dismembering encircled him like a halo of scrap and bolts.

Nebula watched him work, saying nothing.

"You know how close we are, off the top of your head?" he asked, paying more attention to his tinkering.

"This time tomorrow."

"Eh." He scratched his neck again, "I put ten units on it being a big fat waste of time."

She made a low sound of agreement, and resigned herself to sitting nearby; five years of desperate galaxy-scouring had made him the most tolerable companion on the ship.

Which was saying a lot.

… _god _that really was saying a lot.

Lorna passed by without saying anything, looking through a pile of clothes on the floor of the bathroom. She groaned.

"Hey Rocket?"

"What Green."

"You didn't… _borrow_ my phone or anything, did you?" There was obvious insincerity in the term "borrow."

Rocket became even more engrossed in his gun, "Why would I want your Earth junk?"

"Just asking." She looked over now, "Guess the tip-offs I got from your friends were probably wrong then, huh?"

He glared at her, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm not gonna sit here and take these baseless accusations, Green."

Lorna knew just as well as he did where the phone most likely was; her face said as much.

"Dude."

"I don't have your stupid phone. So piss off."

Nebula peered over in a way that resembled a threat. It was the only thing that convinced Lorna to drop the interrogation, but even then, it was unwilling.

"Well," she said coolly, "If you do see it… wherever I _lost _it… lemme know, please."

He muttered something unintelligible, not bothering to compose a better reply.

When she'd finally walked out of earshot, Rocket peered up from his gun, fixing Nebula with a sly smile. He pulled the phone out of a pocket in his jumpsuit, flashing it proudly.

"Wonder how this got here?"

Nebula sighed, using it to smother a smirk, "Is there a problem you're having?"

"She just bugs me." Rocket pocketed the phone again, "Weren't we supposed to drop her off a while ago? Like, I feel like that should be high on the list of shit to do."

"An informer is a necessary evil," Nebula reasoned, "Until it isn't."

Rocket snickered, "See, now this is why we keep you around. Sentiment and—" He made air-quotes, "—"moral standards" are overrated."

Nebula took out a dagger, something as small as it was sharp, and examined it. She sharpened it against a plate on her pants made for the purpose.

"Hm."

"So this cult guy we're gonna have to deal with," Rocket added off-handedly, "You think anything's gonna go wrong there?"

"I have yet to be intimidated someone whose only arsenal is expendable followers and charisma." Her eyes flashed, "This time will be no different."

Rocket snickered under his breath, "Yeah. How scary can this guy be, really?"

* * *

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Cold seawater collected in a puddle in the corner. It was one of many throughout the city, growing stagnant with age and refuse.

Every sound echoed: dripping. Sloshing. Quick, scurrying slaps of bare feet against bare concrete. It was accompanied by the ever-present backdrop of low, faint droning.

Light, when it was present, was artificial and blue. Somehow this made the darkness that it couldn't reach even darker. There were black shapes, of buildings, of remnants.

Of bodies. Either still or shambling.

One of them had a trembling hand that trailed across the wall as she walked. It wasn't just the chill of thick metal that caused her to shake.

The snaking halls, built tall out of the belief they'd be so eternally, took her towards the part of the city few sought out, if it could be helped.

Her makeshift robes, which had belonged to several before her, designated that for her, it could not be helped.

The puddle beside the arching doorway was bigger than the last time she'd come by. She set a hand on the door, but didn't push.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

She stared into the barely rippling water, as if it held an escape.

_Drip. Drip._

Her hand retreated, only to shape into a fist and knock.

… _Drip… drip…_

_… drip…_

When her head began to spin, she realized she'd been holding her breath. She released it, with effort, afraid to add to the echoes around her.

There was no answer.

_He never does._

Her family. Her mother, her sister. The group. The family. They were starving.

_He needs to know._

She knocked again.

_He will know what must be done._

No answer. Just dripping.

She inhaled. And pushed open the door.

One of the room's walls was purely window; she did her best to ignore it. Anything outside it would be of no comfort to her.

The once glossy floor was stained. The only gloss came from water. Puddles of it.

She passed by piles that surpassed her height, composed of a little bit of everything. Most of that "everything" emitted a uniquely pungent smell that fought to overpower the others.

He was sitting. Staring down into his lap. At the little brown book.

… why… had she come, again?

He didn't acknowledge her entrance, with word or movement. His form remained hunched over himself. Pale and smooth in the sickly light. Tall, without being built for it—not tall. _Stretched_.

She took a step backwards, holding her breath again.

_He. Knows what must be done._

Another step back.

_He doesn't need me to inform him, of course. He knows. We must trust him._

Another step back. She kept her eyes on him, waiting for acknowledgement. She no longer wanted it.

_We. Can trust him. To deliver us. He said we can trust him._

Another step ba—

She disrupted something at the edge of a pile; it clanked loudly.

Her eyes flew down to her feet and to the now upturned, rusty scrap of ceiling panel, then just as instantly back up to him.

The book sat opened on the floor. Alone.

She spun on her heel and ran for the door.

Before she reached it, the door was hit with the ceiling panel, and clattered loudly to the floor. She stopped.

And felt the breath on the back of her neck.

"I don't. Like. To be. Interrupted."

She turned.

. . .

Slowly, calmly, the door was closed with a gentle click.

_Drip-drip-drip-drip-drip._

Her body was folded over her legs, forehead propped against the wall.

The wall was behind her.

Her sudden absence of a rib-cage was what made this possible.

For now, she added to the cacophony of dripping.


	6. Hallelujah, My Ass

"Heads up!" Rocket called down from the cockpit, "We're coming up on Fleubar."

The Guardians and Lorna gradually wandered up; Rocket was piloting, Peter was busying himself with navigation, and Groot busying himself with his game.

Ahead of them, gradually growing in size as they neared it, a disappointingly plain sphere came into view. If Earth's moon could've been even more grey and unassuming, it would serve as a twin to Fleubar.

Peter made a face, "Looks like a fun place."

"Looks pretty dead to me," Rocket commented boredly.

"Groot," Peter called over, "Put that thing down a minute and do a scan of the place."

The groan it received was comprised of pure teenage unwillingness.

"I'm not gonna ask you again, dude."

While Groot did the bare minimum required to begin a planetary scan, Nebula scrutinized the moon from their present vantage point.

"Even if there's an atmosphere," she observed, "It isn't enough to sustain life bigger than a virus. If that." Her arms crossed, "And if there was something larger, we'd have already seen it."

All eyes were turned to Lorna, who was already taking great interest in her nails.

After an uncomfortable silence, she peered up, but at no one in particular.

"… I know they said Fleubar."

"No you didn't!" Rocket immediately seized upon the comment, having waited for his opportunity, "You only "knew" it when I read it off to you!"

"I couldn't remember it off the top of my head," she doubled down, fixing him with a frown, "When you said it, I remembered it."

"Well obviously you didn't, cause there's nothing here!"

The red in her cheeks contrasted horribly against the green hair, "I _know _this is the place they said."

"Then where are they, huh? Why am I not seeing them down there?" He made no effort to conceal his spite, "Am I blind? They invisible? Is that another thing you're gonna conveniently "remember"?"

"Hey!" Peter finally barged in, "Hey, whoa whoa—Rocket, chill! Jeez!" He was the only other person who hadn't in some way distanced themselves from the conflict, "It was just a mistake!"

Lorna huffed, "I didn't—" She bit it back with great effort, turning it into a sigh, "I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't making a goal outta wasting everyone's time."

"Yeah, well," Rocket turned back to the steering mechanism, "Ya did anyway. So thanks for that."

"What do we do now?" Mantis asked no one in particular, sounding hopeless.

Peter looked over his crew; everyone had secluded themselves in their own degree of misery, from Nebula's stoic contemplation, to Drax's… equally stoic contemplation. He took in a breath.

"I mean…" he began, trying to string something together that would shake them, and himself, out of this funk, "Guys, listen…"

Thor stood from his seat, drawing everyone's attention.

"We keep looking," he said calmly, seriously but not so much so that it instilled dread, "The galaxy is not a small place, so sooner or later we're bound to find someone who knows something, or someone who knows someone who knows something more about the stones." Thor nodded once, "There's plenty of time, and therefore plenty of chances."

The mood lifted just enough to be noticeable; his speech was met with a few nods, murmurs.

Peter cleared his throat, ridding his voice of a tremor, "Right. Yeah, exactly—I was gonna… it was gonna be something along those lines, you just beat me to it."

Thor offered a quick, smug little smile, "Of course."

While Peter returned to his seat, something on Groot's screen began to beep. He glanced up at it with disinterest.

"Alright." Peter cracked his knuckles, "Let's head over to the nearest refueling port and we'll hunker down, maybe steal a couple cool things, and—"

"I am Groot."

Rocket sat up curiously, "There's a what?"

"I _am _Groot."

Nebula made it over to the display first, to confirm the discovery. She stared at it, then the moon, then the display again.

"It's picking up biological signatures. There are multiple things alive, down there."

Everyone was staring at the previously uninteresting Fleubar with a renewed sense of confusion.

"I see nothing," Drax observed, stating the obvious.

Peter swept aside the navigation panel and projected Groot's screen onto his own. He hit a few buttons, initiating more planetary scans. His eyes widened.

"… it ain't on the moon." Something like childish amazement was in his expression, "It's _inside _it."

Rocket whipped his head around, "It's _what?"_

Nebula was two steps ahead, "Rocket, circle the moon. Look for a breach in the surface of some kind."

He was skeptical, but complied with her instructions. It only took a few minutes of browsing for them to find what they were looking for.

"There," Mantis pointed out, "I see something."

Upon closer inspection, the imperfection in Fleubar's surface wasn't so innocuous as it seemed. A rock formation blended into the grey surface around it; only at an angle was it possible to see the shadow it casted. And the even darker shadows beneath it.

Nebula made a sound of thought, "A cave. It must lead beneath the surface."

"And you want me to fly down there?"

Peter jerked to attention, "No—_no _we're not flying down there. I'm not gonna replace the ship for at least another five years; it's a pain in the ass to set everything up again." He snapped his fingers, "You've got that little spy-robot thing you made, right?"

Rocket frowned, "The recon-drone."

"Yeah. Spy-robot. Same thing."

With a groan of exasperation, Rocket abandoned the steering mechanism for a screen at the side of the pilot's chair. After a few beeps of confirmation, something came into view outside of the Bentar: a tiny, cylindrical hunk of metal with a glass front and a single thruster on the rear.

Mantis giggled, "It's cute!"

Rocket's ears flattened instantly, "It's not…" He didn't bother continuing. The drone flew towards the moon as its view was projected onto a large screen in the Bentar's cockpit. Fleubar grew larger and larger until it took up the whole screen, blinding them with pale grey.

The drone faithfully puttered along, descending into the cave mouth with a faint light projecting onto its path. After only a few seconds of navigating the rocky grey cave, the drone hit a wall.

Of water.

It kept moving forward, the rock of the cave eventually giving way to nothing but inky blackness. Particles flowed past as the drone descended deeper, for what seemed like miles.

"Underground ocean, then," Peter observed, "Cool."

"So the life scans we were getting are probably some fish or something," Rocket rationalized, "Big deal."

And then the drone picked up something else. It was dark, smooth, and unreasonably tall.

A spire.

_"Holy shit!" _Peter was out of his chair again, "What the hell is that?!"

"Is—" Lorna was right beside him, gaping at the sight, "Is that a _building?"_

The drone took in more of the surroundings.

"A huge building," Mantis added.

The structure was dark, stark, and stretched on into the darkness of the unlit ocean. Bits of reflected light revealed, of all things, panes of glass in the walls of the ominous building.

Drax was taking it all in with a quiet amazement, "Polybia."

The word caught Thor's attention and he turned to Drax with a grin.

"Did you say Polybia?" He regarded the structure, "… yes, I suppose it could be here, of all places."

"What's Polybia?"

"Oh it's an old story," Thor explained, paying more attention to the screen, "A civilization of people who didn't much care for uh…" He waved a hand, "Well, anything outside of themselves. They disappeared from their planet one day and supposedly built a city somewhere else… people believe underwater somewhere, to avoid having to deal with anyone else."

Drax huffed, "Stupid idea. There'd be nothing to eat but fish. Or each other."

"Well they are considered a "lost" civilization for a reason," Thor agreed.

Nebula had taken up the seat Peter abandoned, more concerned with the information their scans had received.

"There's a ship," she reported flatly, "Not moving. But big."

Lorna turned her head around to smirk at Rocket, "Big enough to fit a cult, maybe?"

He pretended not to hear the comment, focusing on operating the drone.

Peter spoke up, "Well, we're still not flying my ship underwater. We can probably fit a couple in the pod and…"

Rocket glanced over, "And?"

"Well obviously there's a way _in, _so we'll find that and… y'know, figure the rest out as we go."

Rocket rubbed his eyes with a sigh, "That's a terrible idea."

"So you'll be volunteering to stay and monitor the ship, then?" Thor asked, clearly ribbing him.

"Hell no!" he shot back instantly, "I'm just statin' it for the record that something's gonna go wrong. But I'm still gonna shoot some guys to make up for it."

On cue, the Guardians gradually rose and made their way to the ladder out of the cockpit.

Lorna's eyes lit up, "Can I come?"

"Nope," Peter immediately shot down, "Stay and make sure no one steals the ship."

"What?" she said with clear disappointment, "Boo."

"Yeah I'm sure you've got a lot to bring to the team," Rocket called over as he descended the stepladder, "They're not gonna stand a chance against your mildly biting commentary."

"I can he—" She huffed as he ignored her, turning to Peter, "I can help, I swear. Please?"

Peter made a face, rubbing the back of his neck, "Ehhhhh…"

"Besides," she added, standing a little taller, "Do y'all even know what the book looks like?"

"You didn't see it either!" he replied.

"No… but I've spent more time around it than y'all, even if I didn't see it, so…" The confidence had all but vanished, "… I mean, I've got a better chance of… recognizing it, I bet."

Drax furrowed his brow, "That makes no sense."

"Damn right it doesn't!" Rocket shouted from below, "Groot! Get your butt down here and leave the game! You and Drax are coming with me. Quill can have Nebs and god of thunder."

Mantis hurried over, "And me?"

Peter gave her a similar look to the one he'd offered Lorna, "We… really do need people to make sure the ship isn't stolen." He cleared his throat awkwardly, "And I mean, the spy-robot-thing is still out there, so you can keep an eye on us that way."

Her excitement dissipated instantly, "But I…"

"Oh come on, Mr. Quill," Lorna came to her aid, "She beat Thor arm-wrestling, didn't she? No cult-guy stands a chance."

Still Peter didn't waver, "It's a pretty important job—arguably the most important. We can't go anywhere if the ship's not here when we get back." He started down the ladder but stopped at the first step, "Uh. You're fine with that, right?"

Mantis did her best to conceal her expression with a nod, keeping her gaze down afterwards.

"Yes." She spoke quietly, "As long as I am being useful."

Peter paused, but continued descending the stepladder. Lorna, not to be deterred so easily, followed right after him.

"Please?" she repeated, "I swear to god I can help."

Peter sighed, "Kid…"

She offered a hopeful smile, extending a fist towards him, "Come on. Earth abductee solidarity?"

He considered it, then her. Then groaned. And accepted the fist bump.

* * *

With seven people in a pod designed for maybe half that, it was a tight fit as they traversed the dark waters towards their destination. Now able to see the structure closer-up, imperfections made themselves apparent: remnants of engravings worn away by the current, chips, cracks. Some areas were lit, others remained as little more than silent monoliths. Every part of the building was attached to one another, creating one massive structure.

"Uh," Peter asked, "Is the whole "Polybia" place you guys were talking about supposed to look like this?"

"It was said that the city put all others to shame," Drax spoke as if reciting a long-told story, "More impressive and awe-inspiring than any other built before, or to come."

They all considered the structure before them.

"… eh." Rocket muttered, "It's _okay_."

On one of the furthest ends of the city, there was a massive arching doorway that led into an equally massive part of the structure. Strangely, there was no doorway or gate to pass through first—they simply went in, and when they surfaced, they were inside what seemed to be an empty hangar.

"Shouldn't this be underwater?" Lorna questioned as they exited the pod one by one, "Like, I know air pockets are a thing, but this deep down, with water pressure and all that jazz…?"

Peter shrugged, "I dunno. If I've learned anything up to this point, it's that eventually you gotta just say "science did it somehow" and keep going."

No sirens or frothing at the mouth cult leaders were there to greet them, so the Guardians lingered near their pod.

"Alright," Peter instructed, "So you guys—" He gestured towards Drax, Groot, Lorna and Rocket, "—are gonna be team Green Eggs and Ham."

"We're not using that," Rocket said flatly.

"Head off in that direction," Peter continued, ignoring him, "From outside it looked like it branches off from here. We'll take the other way. Keep in contact, and don't do anything stupid. Got it?"

"I am Groot?" he asked.

Drax shook his head, "That is an exception."

"No it's not," Peter quickly corrected, "It is _not _an exception—don't do that. Just look for some kind of old book. They're probably keeping it somewhere that's locked up or guarded."

"We gotta take Greenie?" Rocket complained, already queuing up one of his guns for the fun ahead.

Before Peter could intervene, Lorna waved off the statement.

"It's fine," she assured calmly, "It makes the most sense to pair up the most and least competent people, right?"

Rocket looked over, thinking he'd misheard, "What?"

Lorna offered an overly-sweet smile, "So don't worry. I'll do my best to look out for you."

Not waiting for any sort of retribution, she headed off towards the end of the hangar. Rocket turned his annoyance onto Drax.

"If she doesn't come back—" He powered up his gun, "We're calling it an accident."

* * *

Their footsteps bounced off the walls as they followed the path ahead of them. They'd stumbled upon what was probably once a captivating sight: like those walkways made of glass you'd find in an aquarium. But rather than stingrays or miniature sharks, all they could make out on the outside was the sandy ocean floor, and an unyielding blackness beyond.

Other than an occasional shoe, trash, or a broken piece of tiling, the walkway was bare.

"Kind of a shitty legendary city," Lorna observed in a whisper, almost afraid to break the stillness in the air, "I was expecting more…"

"People," Drax completed for her.

Rocket didn't alter his usual volume, "Hey, I'm not complaining. Less for us to do." His ears perked up at a sudden series of beeps, and recognizing it, he wheeled around to the group, "Groot, didn't I tell you to leave that thing on the ship?"

When the statement wasn't acknowledged, he stomped over to Groot and made a grab for the gaming device, "Gimme—hey! Give it to me!"

Groot used his height to his advantage, lifting the little device out of Rocket's reach. Rocket, undeterred, simply dug his claws into the bark of Groot's leg and climbed up.

"Groot!" he snapped, managing to avoid being swatted off, and after successfully snatching the game free, hopped off and landed on the ground. "You're not getting this back for a week, you hear me?"

As he pocketed the game, Lorna failed to repress a laugh.

"Don't worry, Groot," she said, "He can just give you the phone he stole from me."

"Oh go cry to Ryan about it," he snapped, with the hint of a smirk.

Lorna stared at him in confusion, "Ryan? Who the hell—"

Then it clicked. Her face morphed into an expression of mild horror.

_"You went through my Tindr matches?!"_

He snickered, enjoying the reaction it got him, "That and a lot of shitty music."

"You son of a—" She stopped herself short, barely, "Okay. First off, stay _out _of the dating apps. Second, my music isn't _all_ shitty."

"You got a secret folder somewhere I haven't found yet?"

"And _third."_ She seemed to be making an honest attempt to sound patient, "I'm fine with you using my phone for music and stuff, just ask me."

"Well obviously I don't need to do that." He started walking again, disregarding it, "Haven't had to, yet."

Lorna bit the inside of her lip, fixing her hardened gaze on one of the windowed walls. She half expected to see something demonic staring back at her.

"I am Groot."

She glanced over, "Mm?"

"He said 'The water should be on the outside'," Drax translated, nodding towards a shallow puddle beside the wall window she'd been looking through.

Lorna hissed in a breath, "Yeah… not reassuring, huh?"

"If we keep moving, we'll be out of here a lot sooner," Rocket shouted back, not bothering to wait for them "Then it'll be someone else's problem. Let's find Greenie's invisible cult."

"You know," Drax spoke as they followed after Rocket, "I too can become invisible.

* * *

The other half of the Guardians (Peter had referred to their team as "Team Goonies" to little fanfare) traversed a much different part of the city, though much of the same ruin and dampness remained.

It was dome-shaped overall, lit at intervals with neglected "streetlights" along the path. The remains of small structures made it look like the area was some sort of… in the loosest possible sense of the word, "apocalyptic suburbia."

They kept to the path which, though its stone material was mostly unblemished from damage, was obscured by the remains of other structures, various forms of trash, and stains that remained unidentified.

Peter sidestepped a particularly big hunk of what was probably once a sofa of some sort, using a handheld light to illuminate the darker areas of the path.

"Watch your step," he warned his group, "Whole lotta stuff to trip over."

Behind them, Thor made a point out of tipping over a large stone with his foot—revealing the remains of the top half of a torso, beneath. He released a squeak unbefitting of an Asgardian his size.

Nebula and Peter peered back curiously, taking in the body.

"I told you to watch your step," Peter said with a shrug.

Nebula, rather than disregarding it, stepped closer to examine the body. It turned out to be a woman, or whatever was left of one, though she didn't seem to have died by being crushed: the gouge across her chest seemed to be the cause of that.

For some unseen reason, Nebula reached for something in the woman's stained garment.

"Ugh," Peter groaned, "Dude, gross. There's probably a bunch of—"

With a less than gentle tug, Nebula snapped a thin leather cord, and freed the item of interest. As she stood, Peter held a light to it, to give them a better look.

It turned out to be a metal charm of some sort: flat, uneven, like it'd been made in a hurry. Scratches that almost resembled legible text adorned one side, and on the other, a symbol: circles and ovals, some connected with lines, shaped something like an inverted star.

Peter cocked his head in consideration, "Supposed to be… a constellation or something?"

Nebula turned it back over to study the writing.

"I can't read it," Thor told them.

"Neither can I." Nebula pocketed the charm, "It doesn't matter. We aren't here to treasure hunt."

Peter shrugged, "I mean, _technically _we kinda are—"

"Move," she snapped, stalking ahead of them. The two could do nothing but follow.

The body proved not to be a rarity; they found more, in various levels of completeness; men and women. They tried to avert their eyes from the smaller corpses.

Though there was some differentiation between them, it looked like a mild attempt had been made to coordinate their clothing. Nebula was the only one to study them closer, taking note of the irregularly shaped metal charms. Almost none of them seemed to be cut from the same cloth, so to speak—silver here, copper there, something dull and brown.

While she observed this, Thor took the lead, taking them to the end of the path. They were met with a fork, branching off into opposite directions. Almost without a cease in his step, Thor picked the path on the left.

"Wait," Peter cautioned, "Why this way?"

Thor peered back, "Why not this way?"

Peter gestured to a large red stain on the wall, "That right there's a pretty good reason."

"What about it?"

"What about it?" Peter repeated incredulously, "I don't wanna go in the same direction as whatever made _that._"

Thor scoffed, waving it off, "Whatever it was had to be small enough to fit through the entrance we came in from, and that's not something I'm afraid of."

"Okay, but that way—" Peter pointed to the opposite forking path, "—doesn't have blood all over it."

"That's enough," Nebula said, annoyance beginning to simmer.

"And therefore is less likely to have anything at all, making us waste our time when we could be doing anything else." Thor smiled at his deduction, "We're going this way."

Peter laughed once, incredulous, "No we're not!"

Thor paused. He glanced back at Peter.

"I understand." He nodded, "Then _I'm _going this way." And he resumed walking.

Peter's face fell, looking between Nebula and a slowly disappearing Thor.

"Hey!"

Thor raised his hand in a wave, "You're welcomed to follow me anytime you'd like!"

And thus, any chance of cooperation was thoroughly expunged.

"… no!" Peter set his sights on the forking path on the right and headed down it like there was no time to lose.

Nebula watched this go down, not even waiting for them to be out of earshot before she groaned.

"Idiots!"

After a pause, she kicked a pile of rubble. It was reduced to slightly smaller rubble.

And so, like assholes, they split up.

* * *

The other group, though also assholes, had the sense _not _to split up.

Their path saw its own display of bodies, though rarely were they completely intact; to her disappointment, she seemed to be the only person bothered by this.

"Goodie," she commented, making an effort not to breathe through her nose, "This just got a whole lot worse."

"They are merely parts," Drax told her, possibly in an attempt at reassurance, "They cannot harm you."

"Sure, but that doesn't mean I necessarily _want _to see them off the people they belong to."

"The people they came from are likely not a threat, either," Drax countered.

Lorna cringed at the comment, turning to Groot in desperate hopes of confirmation, "I'm guessin' you feel the same?"

He shrugged passively, "I am Groot."

She took it as a yes and sighed, turning her attention back to the head of the group, "And of course you proba_what the hell are you doing?!"_

Rocket's arm was already elbow-deep in a headless torso's pocket, "Seeing if there's anything useful."

"_What about a corpse could possibly be useful?!"_

"As a weapon," Drax suggested; he picked up the nearest dismembered arm to prove his point.

"Or in case I need it," Rocket added nonchalantly, pulling out what seemed to be a half-decomposed hand. Lorna felt the contents of her stomach make a leap for her throat, and she struggled to keep it down.

"Why—" She held back a gag, "How's a rotten hand gunna be useful?"

He tossed it towards her. She flew backwards with a yelp, then resisted the urge to kick it back towards him when he snickered at her reaction.

"Look, it's not my business," she huffed, "But is this all really worth a stupid shiny rock?"

And then, like a flip had been switched, there were three equally potent glares centered on her. Lorna felt the shift, realizing she'd crossed some unspecified line.

"Yes." Drax answered coldly, "It is."

"And you're right," Rocket said, bitterly, "It ain't your business."

She didn't retort, feeling the resentment was, for once, probably warranted.

"Why do you care about the stone?" she asked gently, afraid to exacerbate the issue further.

No one answered at first.

"We need it," Drax finally spoke, his tone steady with certainty, "To get back our friend, Gamora, murdered by Thanos to obtain it." The dismembered arm he still held began to twist, emitting several sharp, sudden cracks, "And we will do the same if it means she is returned."

Lorna found it hard to meet his relentless gaze, so she spoke towards the ground, "And… how do you know you'll be able to get her back?" She paused, measuring her words this time, "You said the stones are gone… even if the soul realm thing is real, and you get there without the stone…"

"What?" Rocket interrupted, "So you're saying we should just not try then?"

"No," Lorna replied instantly, "That's not—"

"Man, shitty friend you must be."

And the second unspecified had been crossed.

"Okay Build-a-Bastard, how about you lay off and let me talk for a hot second without interrupting?" she snapped angrily, "I didn't know what y'all's deal was, cause no one told me when I asked the first time! And now that I _do _know, I'd say it's a legit enough reason! That good enough for you, bud?"

He barely flinched at her outburst, merely snarling at the nickname.

"Whatever."

Lorna took in a breath, releasing it slowly; her sudden temper ebbed away along with it.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, patting it a few times; she reached up to dissuade what she assumed was Drax, and felt the cold flesh under her fingers.

He was using the dismembered hand to perform the reassuring gesture.

Lorna absolutely shrieked. Drax's laughter was equally loud.

* * *

The number of stains and miscellaneous body parts increased as they honed in on a towering hallway—that should've been their first warning. Did they turn around?

Oh hell no. Their pace even quickened a little.

It got increasingly dark, until unexpectedly, the cold surroundings were broken by a sliver of white light; it seemed to spill out from an arching doorway, adorned with intricate swirls of black metal.

The light created an outline of the door, which stood half-opened.

Rocket beckoned over his shoulder, hissing at his team, "Move it."

When they were only a few feet away, the silence was broken by a series of alarming sounds: footsteps, voices.

"Shit!" Rocket breathed, then repeated with greater urgency, "Move!"

The thought luckily seemed resonate outwards, because the four collectively made a dash for the opened door, sticking close to the wall to avoid whoever it was that was rapidly approaching.

And then, when they were within reach, the already opened door was flung outwards—the Guardians were stuck between it and the wall, freezing in place.

Through the crack in the door, they caught a glimpse of the… person… who had exited the room; the sight discouraged any ideas of ambush that had begun to form.

He was tall, and too slender to properly support his proportions. His skin was smooth and pale, uniform except for a few strange splotches, and long, spindly growths like hair were rooted at the back of his head. He'd slipped out of the small range of light before a better look could be achieved, but the brief glance had been quite enough.

The footsteps they'd heard slowed rapidly, giving way to heavy breathing. Rocket peeked through the gap in the door, Lorna did the same above him.

Two men, in makeshift robes that didn't fit in any sense of the word, were partially obscured by the creature standing in front of them. Even from the large distance, the whites of their eyes were still visible.

"S-sir," one stammered, hurrying to catch his breath, "One of—one of our numbers… we found—we believe that… we believe that we've found—it's—"

The next sound he made was a strangled gasp. It was followed by squelching, and then a thud. The man was on his back.

The creatures head turned eerily slow towards the other man.

"Again." His voice was an unsettling even, "But faster."

There was no stammer from the new speaker, "Pod. Pod in the entrance bay. Empty."

The man's jittery breathing was the only sound that followed it, for a moment.

"… interesting?" The creature's head didn't move from its current position, "Yes."

A grateful exhale was heard.

"Worth my time?" Another pause, "No."

After an agonized cry, there were two men on the floor.

The creature lingered there for a minute, not even swaying in his stance. He reached down, grasping the men in each of his hands, and proceeded to drag them down the hall from where they'd come.

Lorna shuddered, "Jesus…"

Drax slowly pushed the door away from the wall, freeing them from the tight squeeze. They hurried to round it and slip inside the room, unseen.

The room was shaped large a large hexagon, with a high domed ceiling, a wall made entirely of glass windows that stretched to meet said ceiling… along with mountains and mountains of trash. The rank smell greeted them upon entrance, followed by the realization of the task ahead of them.

"Alright," Rocket urged, sounding just short of annoyance, "Let's find the stupid book and get the hell out of here before snake-skin over there comes back."

"I thought he resembled a frog," Drax commented.

"Whatever he was," Lorna butt in, "I don't want the chance to get a better look."

They split up throughout the room, rummaging through whatever trash pile they deemed least offensive to the senses. Most of it was cold and damp, comprised of stained and mushy clothing shreds, segments of what was once most likely luxury furniture, ceiling tiles, floor tiles, once living things, trash… the like. Not one book, though.

Lorna was hesitant to touch anything, mostly lifting larger pieces of trash with a foot before setting it down again. She was the only one to show any precaution though; Groot for one was digging through the mess like a kid at the beach.

And then the door slammed.

Everyone's heads swiveled towards the sound, just in time to catch sight of the creature as he entered the room.

Lorna flattened herself against the trash pile nearest to her, obscuring herself from sight. She risked a glance around one of the edges, catching a glimpse of Groot a few piles closer to the door, and in much the same state as her.

She held still and listened for footsteps, catching them: ticks of claws against the tile floor. When they were a safe enough distance out of earshot, Lorna crouched low and scurried over to the pile between she and Groot, waited a second longer, then joined him.

"Hey there Sprout," she whispered, "Did you see where Rocket and Drax went?"

He pointed her to a pile across the room, near the windowed wall. Lorna risked a glance around the edge, placing a hand against the pile to balance herself. Whatever she'd touched, it was spongey and cold; she made the mistake of identifying it.

Her fingers were very close to the opened mouth of a corpse.

Her mouth opened in a cry—Groot was able to stifle it just in time.

Rocket lowered himself onto all fours, poking his head around his own pile. The pale creature had found his way to a small, innocuous trash mound near the back of the room, and was sifting through it without urgency.

He crinkled up his nose, then returned into hiding. Back against the trash, he pulled a communicator out of his front pocket and put it as close to his face as possible.

"Hey," he whispered, "Team Idiot-Force—Quill, Nebs, Thor. We got a problem—and _don't say nothing back."_

At three different locations in the city, the group tuned into their communicators.

"We gotta get this dude out of here," Rocket continued, "Before he finds us and makes a new set of wall decorations." He hit red button on the side of the communicator, which emitted a muffled beep, "Sending you the location. Cause some sorta distraction and do it _now_."

If they'd been together, it may have been possible to agree on a single course of action; as it was, three different plans came to pass. Thor made a beeline for their location. Nebula, anticipating the need for an escape, dropped her current objective and set a course for the pod. Peter had a less direct idea, and followed the ventilation pipes that snaked across the walls above him, hoping it would lead him in the right direction.

Throwing caution to the wind, Rocket had managed to sneak behind a pile closer to the creature, trying to get a better view of whatever he was unearthing. After a scrap of what was once a robe was cast aside, there was a glimpse of something like worn leather.

Rocket inched closer, nudging the trash pile as he did so and disrupting a few pieces. He quickly threw up his hands to halt its fall, catching the cascade just in time.

Something inside the heap caught his attention; it was a metal tin, about the size of a deck of cards. It was scuffed, dented, and cheap.

And it was adorned with a symbol. Made of circles and ovals, some connected with lines, shaped like an inverted star.

Rocket dropped the pile he was supporting, and the contents clattered to the floor around him. Loudly.

The creature's head snapped around in the direction of the sound. And stepped towards it.

Then there was another crash, much louder.

Lorna laid on her side in the half-deflated garbage pile, wide eyes not matching the smile she was projecting.

"Oh hey." Her voice was forcefully calm, eyes unblinking, "Hi there. Sorry, didn't mean to make a mess of your… your stuff. I'm sorry about that." She rose to her feet, never taking her eyes off the creature that was now locked onto her.

"Uh, I should probably introduce myself since we haven't met yet, so—" She held out a hand, "Lorna Dane."

The following silence was almost painful. Neither Lorna nor the creature showed a break in their demeanor, though the former was very close to doing so.

With a movement so slow that it could only be described as a slink, the creature began to approach, footsteps marked by the click of his talons. Lorna fought to maintain eye-contact, but the way those slitted pupils stayed static while the rest of him rose and fell with his stalking strides…

… was just a tad bit unnerving.

He stopped a few feet away, Lorna having to crane her neck to meet his eyes several feet above. If the cold sweat was all she felt on her neck in the next few minutes, she'd consider herself lucky.

As the creature exhaled, there was a subtle rattle beneath it.

"… I am Freak."

The voice got to her before his actual words did.

"Your name… is Freak?" she could do no more than squeak. There was no answer, so she repeated a little louder, "Someone named you _Freak_?"

There was no visible reaction in his voice, and it remained flat and articulate, "I gave it to myself."

A hint of normalcy returned to Lorna's tone, "Any particular reason you went with Freak?"

His nearly nonexistent lips parted in a smile that served only as a threat.

Any courage Lorna had mustered were diminished at the sight of those teeth.

"It's the truth."

"I mean—no, that's not—" Her babbling was on the cusp of incoherency, "I mean if you're gunna name yourself why not go for something… I dunno, not so… demeaning? Honestly, you could pass for a Dale, or Brock or… jeez, uh a Kevin—"

"My name is mine alone." The flatness had now sharpened, "_No one _will take it from me."

"_OKAY _hostility cool fair alright." She straightened up and put extra effort into the smile, "No by all means, you do you. That aside."

Lorna took a cautious step to the side, refusing to break eye contact, then took a few more, "I'll be honest with you, Fr… sir. So the guys that you stole that fancy book from, they sorta… sent me to try to get it back."

By now she'd walked far enough to turn Freak's attention somewhat away from the door, and kept walking. The intention was clear to the Guardians: _get the hell out of there before I run out of things to talk about._

"And that's _just _me, by myself. With. No one else here." She winced at the obvious comment and tried to recover, "But the problem is, I never got to see the book, so I don't know what it looks like or… really anything about it. So I was wondering, out of curiosity, if you'd… be able to tell me anything about it?"

His back was fully towards the door; the Guardians seized their chance, converging behind the trash pile closest to it, and waited.

Freak, without provocation, sealed the distance between he and Lorna. Her hair was now exceedingly vivid against her pale face, her smile a thin, tight line.

When he spoke, it was a hiss only inches away.

"Do I scare you?"

Gradually, Lorna summoned back her smile; it was _almost _genuine.

"… should you?"

Freak's tooth-filled sneer sank into a neutral expression. He continued to stare, as if he didn't know what to make of this.

… then, slowly, he held up the leather-bound book in his hand: not to hand it over, but to display it. Lorna dropped eye contact for the first time, turning it on the book.

"Oh. Is that it?"

"Yes."

"Huh." She made an instinctive move forward to get a closer look, "The priests hyped it up so much, I figured it was gunna be solid gold or jewel-encrusted or something."

"No." Freak put his other hand on the worn cover, "But. It is valuable."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

His eyes flicked up towards her.

"I do not like to be patronized."

"Oh was I—no I didn't mean—" By now she didn't bother to fake the smile, terror clear on her face, "Okay yeah, you stole it from the soul stone temple, so it's gotta have something to do with that and that's why you want it—stupid question. You're right. I'm sorry."

She almost glanced back at the group for help, but stopped herself at the last second, turning it back to Freak. Back was the fake smile.

"Then lemme be as _unpatronizing as possible _when I ask another question: why do you want it?"

Rocket was mere inches from the door now, reaching for the handle. Drax and Groot were out in the open, seconds away from being home free.

Lorna tried to buy those seconds for them, reverting to whatever rambling she could muster, "Because I mean, there's a whole lotta people out there who want the stone and wanna go to the whole soul realm or whatever, and they've got all their different reasons, and I figure yours has something to do with leading your cult guys there for—"

"Tagalongs," he corrected her, moving out of her face in order to spit to the side. "Tools. I can't lose them quickly enough."

An uneasy laugh escaped her, "Oh I dunno you—you went through two of 'em pretty fast."

She regretted the statement immediately when it earned her another of those fabricated, toothy smiles.

"Two?" He set the book down on the floor beside him, "Or three?"

Lorna took a step back.

"I'm perfectly fine with keeping it at two. Just. Me personally."

Freak took a step forward. Lorna continued to retreat.

And he continued to advance.

"H-hey," she said shakily, "Let's not—come on now, we don't gotta be doing this…"

When a backwards step hit the glass window behind her, Lorna threw up her hands in front of her. They shook just as much as her voice did.

"Really." There was no confidence behind it, "I don't wanna reason to have to hurt'cha, man."

Freak laughed—it could only be called that in the loosest sense of the word; he lowered onto all fours, like some sort of malformed insect, as he prolonged the advance.

"I will use the book. The tools. To enter the soul realm." He was far too close, "Alone. It is the only way."

Lorna forced out a squeak, "Why?"

"I cannot reach it through death."

"… you're bluffing."

"Am I?"

All she saw next was a spray of blue, shortly followed by a sickeningly wet thump. Freak was no longer standing in her face—now he was lying at her feet.

Rocket shouldered his gun, "Yeah. He was bluffing."

Lorna let out the breath she'd been holding, slouching over her knees in relief.

"Thank you."

"Yeah yeah." He hit a lever on the gun to make it retract in size and holstered it, "Get the book while you're over there."

She carefully stepped over one of the splayed arms, then bent down to pick up the little book that had caused all this trouble.

The arm shot forward around her ankle and yanked.

Her scream commanded the attention of the Guardians, who were halfway out the door. Freak had risen to his feet, a hole where half his face should've been, and he seemed entirely unbothered by the fact.

_"He wasn't bluffing!"_

* * *

Peter had somehow managed to find what he was looking for: the walls were bare, reinforced metal, adorned only with pipes of varying thicknesses. The ever-present drone emanated from the massive door in front of him, making the whole area seem to vibrate.

He rubbed his hands together in preparation, then reached into his pocket. After popping in a pair of headphones and scrolling through his playlist, Peter pocketed the Zune and whipped out his blasters.

The music tuned out everything else around him; it was just Peter, the door, the blasters, and ABBA.

_I been cheated by you since you know when…_

"Let's do this."

He aimed his blasters at the door and fired.

* * *

Thor had been legging it directly to the location he'd been sent, blowing past the rare robed and flabbergasted cult member.

He rounded a corner and found himself in the glass-walled hallway, checked the communicator's location, and doubled his speed.

But his path was suddenly blocked by a swarm of people. The only thing that stopped him from barreling through the new obstacle was the realization that most of the group were women and children. Thor screeched to a halt, nearly stumbling, and stopped short in front of the cultists.

"Excuse me—" He was breathing heavily, "Excuse me, sorry—just need to get past—"

He tried to sidestep around the group, only for them to shift in the way again.

A stone-faced woman stood at the front of the group, standing tall and indignantly.

"We will stop anyone who stands against our leader!" she declared, locking arms with the two women at her sides. Other repeated the action, until they made up a large human (alien?) chain.

"You will have victory over nothing but corpses!"

Thor cringed at the statement, "That's a bit… overly dramatic, wouldn't you say?"

"Corpses!" one of the children parroted, her face a strange mimicry of the angry resolution on the faces of the adults.

Thor peered around the group, the hallway. He sighed.

"Very well then." He turned to leave, "I will just… go back from where I came and…"

Thor made a bolt for the small space in between cultist and glass wall. He was swarmed by the group, grabbing and clawing at anything in their reach.

* * *

In the trash den, all hell had broken loose.

Drax was doing what he did best, attacking Freak without any regard for self-preservation. Every inch of Freak was hacked and slashed at, spilling metallic-smelling blue blood across the already puddle-covered floor. Any other creature of Freak's build would've been downed after the first hit—frankly, getting half their head blown off should've done the trick— but this was not the case.

Lorna had successfully snatched the book and made a dash for the door, only for Freak to shake off Drax long enough to latch onto her shirt and yank her backwards. This was quickly remedied by a barrage of shots aimed directly at his head, compliments of Rocket, who was using a previously pocketed aero-rig (fancy jetpack) to fly above the conflict and rain gunfire as he saw fit.

She wrenched herself free from his grasp, making another attempt to get to the door. Shielding his face from Rocket's attack, Freak swept up a pile of trash and hurled it in the direction of the door, nearly wiping out Rocket in the process.

Darting to the side, Lorna ducked behind a tall trash pile, using the precious few seconds to come up with an alternative plan; she began to dig around in the trash, searching.

Drax had leapt into the fray once more, throwing himself from a pile of trash and onto Freak's back, nearly bringing them both down from the momentum. He wrapped his arms around Freak's thin neck and started to squeeze.

As Freak reached back to dig his claws into Drax, Groot wrapped several vines around his arms, struggling to pull them to Freak's sides. Rocket took the chance to consolidate fire on Freak, determined to take off a body part and make it stick this time.

"Hold him still!" Rocket snapped, taking care not to shoot his friends.

With a sickening snap, Freak jerked one of his arms sharply forward—the snap was a combination of Groot's vines and the bones in Freak's upper arm. It allowed him to slip free, and like the bones were a mild annoyance, he reached back and grabbed Drax by the skull.

Lorna heard a crash, and popped out from behind her hiding place in time to see a limp Drax go flying through the air and into Rocket. Freak then flung Groot, still attached to him by a pair of vines, into a trash pile beside Lorna.

She tried to make a run for the pile, only to realize that Freak had set his sights on her again—and he was going to reach her _much _sooner than she would've liked.

_"Shit! Groot!" _She reared back and pitched the book towards Groot, "Take it!"

Not worrying about whether the book was caught or not, Lorna instead turned to face Freak; like she'd anticipated, he was heading for the book. When he was close enough, she bolted forward and locked her grip around his broken arm.

"I swear to god it's nothing personal—"

She was hurled backwards into Drax, who had only now risen to continue the attack.

Groot was now the primary target, but he made no attempt to hide—he took Freak head-on, engulfing him in an explosion of vines and branches.

"Groot!' Rocket scolded, "Get your ass away from—"

Freak, without hesitation, dug his claws into the vines and other plant-like material that surrounded him, ripping it off and flinging it away. He made a grab for the book, and when that was unsuccessful, settled for the base of Groot's arm. With a firm tug, it was severed.

_"Oh no you fucking don't!" _Rocket whipped out a second gun, something meant to be wielded with two hands, and opened-fired as he sprinted forward.

* * *

Nebula had come across many cultists, men and women, young and old, on her run back to the pod. And all were treated in the same direct manner: if they didn't move on their own, they were subsequently moved.

In the hangar itself, a mass of women had surrounded the pod, anticipating her arrival. Nebula stopped, her eyes boring into the woman who stood in front.

"We will stop anyone who stands against our leader!" she declared, "He will show us the glory of the soul realm! Your victory will have nothing but—"

Nebula withdrew a cylindrical device from her belt, aimed, and hit the button.

The woman was engulfed in a wave of electricity and went down screaming and thrashing; her fellow cultists regarded her with wide eyes, standing clear of the electric current even as it died down. They slowly returned their attention to Nebula, who still held the glorified taser in front of her.

"Who else?" she invited calmly.

They looked between each other, hoping someone else would make the first move.

The shortest woman, who seemed to be the youngest, made her choice: she turned on her heel and strode confidently away from the rest of the group.

* * *

Thor had only moved a couple feet down the hallway, on account of the number of cultists who were currently clinging onto his arms, legs, and torso; each step required dragging their dead weight along with him. Their attacks had no chance of causing actual harm, but the annoyance it caused was potent enough.

Still, he was determined to do as little harm a possible. With an arm held back at every inch, he pried a young woman off his torso—she responded with a shrill shout, and grabbed a fistful of his beard.

"Beard—" Thor just short of yelped, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't—"

A child planted herself on his shoulders, pelting him with a barrage of weak, open-palmed slaps.

He managed another step forward. Several more to go.

* * *

Peter danced about slightly, scanning the labeled gauges around the room. There wasn't as much urgency as there maybe should've been, but he was sure that once he found what he was looking for, the problem would be swiftly resolved.

_"Yes, I've been brokenhearted,_

_Blue since the day we parted…"_

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the approach of a determined cultist—one pistol-whip later, that was no longer a concern.

_"Why, why did I ever let you go?  
Mamma mia, even if I say  
"Bye bye, leave me now or never"_

* * *

Freak had begun to focus his wrath onto Drax, as he was the one dealing the most damage. And, to their collective despair, Drax was clearly beginning to tire.

Rocket, his back to the door, was scrambling to put together a rig of some sort. He dragged sturdy pieces of thrash that were bigger than him, leaving them in a heap. When he was satisfied, Rocket propped up his guns, tore open their covers, and started to rip out wires.

Groot and Lorna, no longer pursued, were able to drag themselves over to where Rocket was working frantically. Lorna's face looked like a blue and red Pollock painting. Groot looked more frustrated than afraid.

"Here," she took the book from his remaining hand, "I've got it. I don't want him to take off another part of you—Rocket, where the hell is everyone?"

"Screw 'em!" A handful of parts were tossed to the side with a growl, "We gotta take care of it ourselves!"

"How?!"

He jammed a handful of live wires, still attached to the smaller gun, into the larger.

"Shut up and I'll show you!"

Drax toppled a pile of trash as he stumbled backwards, sliding down the glass wall until he was slumped on the ground. He didn't rise, hunched over himself.

Lorna's breath hitched, "_Rocket."_

"I know!"

Freak stalked forward slowly. Drax still didn't rise.

_"Rocket hurry up!"_

_"Shut your goddamn mouth and let me work!"_

Freak reached for Drax.

Rocket powered up the gun; the whir sounded almost painful, taking in more energy than the weapon could safely contain.

"Survive this, ya bastard."

The doors flew open, crashing against the walls as they did. Thor, covered in cultists, had an expression that could melt steel.

Lorna perked up, "Thor!"

Freak spun around at the sounds. Now unseen, Drax shot upright, a large piece of what used to be the ceiling clutched in his fist.

Rocket fired the gun.

Everything happened so quickly, it was almost simultaneous: Freak ducked. Drax's projectile flew over him, into the gun rig, and into the group in the doorway—they went down like bowling pins. Rocket's shot missed Freak, but hit another target with full force.

The glass.

Everyone currently standing stared with wide eyes at the spot in the glass where it had been struck. And at the crack. That was beginning. To grow.

…

The water didn't start as a gentle trickle—the moment it began, it was gushing.

An alarm suddenly blared to life, echoing in the trash chamber. Freak used the distraction to cut his losses and abandon Drax… but he hadn't forgotten the book.

Lorna's grip meant nothing, and despite her best efforts, it was ripped from her hands.

"No!" she cried, Freak already far out of reach. He fled from the room, passing right over Thor and the fallen cultists, who were still reeling from Drax's unintentional projectile.

When she was sure he was gone, Lorna's helpless demeanor vanished—she jumped to her feet and practically dove into a trash pile.

"The hell are you doing?!" Rocket demanded, helping Groot to his feet, "He got the damn book!"

Out of breath, Lorna thrust a mass of loosely bound, yellowed papers into the air. She grinned in triumph.

"No he didn't!"

For only a sliver of a second, Rocket grinned back—then he stifled it.

"Groot, get Drax so we can get the hell out of here!"

He took the chance to rub his neck sorely, muffling a groan, and started to dismantle the double-gun contraption he'd slapped together.

Then, over the alarm, there was a new sound: like grinding metal. Rocket whipped his head around towards the source of the sound.

A massive metal door, solid and without seam or decoration, was descending from a gap between the ceiling and wall. And it was poised to touch down right in front of the room's only door.

Rocket went rigid before he dropped to all fours and sped past Groot, reaching Drax first.

_"Get the hell up!" _he shouted, "_Now!"_

Lorna ran to the door, waiting for the Guardians to catch up with her. The metal door was moving faster than before—it was inches above the smaller doorframe.

She looked back. Drax had risen, mostly, bracing himself against the glass wall. The crack looked a lot bigger, now. The rushing of water could be heard underneath the still shrieking alarm; it spilled out onto the floor, turning isolated puddles into one shallow lake.

Lorna turned to the door. The group. The door again.

Thor wrenched himself free from the cultists, many of which had fled on the tails of their leader. He peered up towards the metallic sound—a wall, like the one inside the flooding chamber, was descending from the outside.

He and Lorna made eye contact for a moment; something in her face twitched.

She threw the remains of the book out the door and into Thor's waiting hands.

The metal walls cleared the doorway.

Thor tried to dive forward.

_"No—"_

With a solid thud, the flooding chamber was completely sealed off from the rest of the city.

* * *

Peter ripped out his headphones the moment the alarms began.

"The hell?" He scanned a specific panel of buttons and dials, adorned with now flashing lights.

Confused, he pressed a button. Then another. With no effect.

"What did they—"

His communicator came to life with Rocket's shrill voice: "Quill! Open the door!"

"Wh—" Peter fumbled with the device, "What?"

"Open the damn door!"

"What door?"

_"The door that just closed, you moron!"_

Peter tried the panel again, but nothing was responding.

"It's not letting me do anything!" He rapidly turned valves, slammed his palm against the surface, "It's—it slammed into emergency mode—"

The device screamed with feedback, "We're trapped in here, dammit!"

Rocket kept the communicator in one hand, trying desperately to assemble the gun rig once more. It was in several pieces, some now floating in a few inches of water.

Outside the chamber, the dull echo of Thor's blows against the outside wall sounded every few seconds. It didn't sound like any progress was being made.

Lorna helped a dazed Drax to his feet, only to be left behind as he made a run for the metal wall. He tried to jam his knife in the imperceptible gap between the wall and floor, but the seal proved airtight. This didn't dissuade him from trying again. And again.

Rocket was refusing to accept that the guns were no more than scraps.

_"Shit! SHIT!" _He slammed his hand down on the useless pieces of gun, _"Quill!"_

_"It's not working!"_

"Is there—" Lorna had to holler over the sounds of the alarm and water, "Mr. Quill! Is there a ventilation system? Something else we can get out through?"

"Uhhh…" He scanned the area frantically, but nothing presented itself, "Shiiiiiit! Come on!"

Thor slammed both fists into the metal wall, creating no more of a dent than before. He let out a roar of rage.

The water, cold and cloudy with trash, was up to Rocket's chest. He waded clumsily through it, clawing onto the largest piece of trash he could reach and pulling himself up onto it. The guns, the rig, had joined the rest of the garbage.

Lorna ran towards the increasingly cracking glass, "Groot! Groot, hey! Come help me with this! Hurry!"

Following her lead, the two began to pile large and rigid pieces of trash up against the glass. When an unsteady frame was formed, Lorna gathered armfuls of soggy, limp trash and tried to hold it against the spurting water. Groot used what branches he could muster to brace them into place while Lorna rushed to gather more. It continued to leak, but they continued to try.

Drax stared at the metal wall for a long while before turning back to Rocket. His expression was not reassuring.

Rocket broke away from the look, eyes darting around the slowly flooding room like a caged animal. His body visibly shuddered with each short, frantic breath he took.

"Quill—" It was desperate now, rather than demanding, "Quill you gotta stop this—"

Just as desperate, Peter fired at the unrelenting control panel. The lights flared up, then died completely.

In the chamber and throughout the rest of the city, the blaring alarm went silent. All that could be heard was the rushing water, and the occasional crackle of glass.

Thor hit the wall again, "I can't get through!"

"Tell him to get back to the pod!" Lorna shouted over, pressing her entire body into the makeshift dam of trash and branches, "Even if he breaks through, the whole city's gunna flood!"

"We're going to drown!" Rocket fired back.

"We'll drown either way! He has the book!" She started to falter under the increasing force of the water, "Tell him to go!"

Rocket stared at the wall, beginning to zone out of the situation and into his own panic.

"_Rocket!"_

Something she'd said finally clicked—his ears flew up in alarm.

"The pod." He straightened up, "_The pod!" _Rocket raised the communicator to his face, "_Nebula! Get Mantis on the drone and come find—"_

Glass buckled under the weight of the water, cracking and ultimately shattering far beyond the initial leak—the flood increased tenfold, and with an overwhelming roar, rushed into the room.

Lorna and Groot were completely overtaken, the trash Rocket had balanced himself on overturned. Before he knew it he was submerged, nothing but darkness surrounding him and unable to tell which way was up.

After what felt like an eternity, Rocket could breathe again—he was hoisted out of the water, lifted high enough to avoid it.

The water had risen high enough to force everyone off the floor. Groot had a tenuous hold on a floating, barrel-like object that bobbed up and down with the threat of submersion. Fighting to stay above water, Lorna was searching the walls for any previously missed route of escape.

Drax set Rocket down on a nearby piece of trash, a flat sheet of something like plastic, and didn't let go until he saw Rocket had gained a firm hold.

Lorna swam closer to Groot, putting a hand on the barrel in an attempt to steady it.

"I think—" She coughed slightly, spitting out the foul water as it sloshed into her face, "I think the vents—were on the wall over the door. But…"

"There is no way out," Drax said solemnly, "Except the ocean."

Lorna opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. She looked between the Guardians: Drax's expression remained cold and resigned, Groot was trying to gain a better hold and failing because of the missing arm. Rocket was a shivering ball of wet fur, barely balancing on the trash that threatened to teeter.

She let go of the barrel to keep herself afloat, treading water, "We can figure something out. Just… just give me a second to think—"

"We're going to fucking drown!" Rocket insisted, somewhere between rage and despair, "We're going to _die here!"_

"No, we're not," Lorna stressed, "We're not going to die. Just hold on—"

With another muffled crack, another surge of water overtook them. It caused any remaining power in the room to die: a faint, white glow from a light on the outside wall of the city was all that illuminated the room.

Rocket's claws had no traction on the slick surface of the floating trash, but he fought to maintain it nonetheless.

Drax, now in a far corner of the room, surfaced with a gasp. Lorna followed shortly after, nearer to him than the rest of the group. She caught sight of the bobbing barrel… but no Groot.

"Groot?!"

There was no reply; it would've been heard over the gradually quieting gurgle of water as the room filled, now more than halfway submerged.

"Groot!" Lorna swam forward, her splashing shallow and frantic, "Groot! Groot, where are you?!" Her breathing was audible, and started to take on the beginnings of tears, _"Groot!"_

Without a word, Drax took in a breath and dove down into the water to search.

The water was visibly inching towards the ceiling. They had a matter of minutes left before…

Lorna shook from the cold water and terror, having a hard time catching her breath.

"No…" she pled to no one in particular, just above a whisper, "No no no… no…"

A sudden splash drew her attention to the other side of the room; Rocket had barely managed to prevent himself from vacating the floating trash, lying flat against it. His hyperventilating could be heard from where she was currently swimming.

Lorna stared for a while before she began to swim in his direction, deliberately slowing her breathing.

_Calm down. Stop crying. You don't need to be crying right now._

She had to push past globs of trash on the way but swam ahead undeterred.

_Looking scared isn't gunna help anyone. So don't be._

When she was a few feet away, Rocket's grip finally gave—with a shrill yelp, he was deposited directly into the water.

"Shi—" Lorna's own outburst was interrupted as she dove down and grabbed the blurry form she saw thrashing in the water. They broke the surface, and Lorna struggled to keep her hold on him.

"Rocket—hey—hey just—" Claws were dug into her arm and she shrieked, "Just listen—listen! You need to—listen, we need to… we'll need to hold our breath either way, and—if you're breathing too fast, you won't—"

He writhed around in her grasp, no less frantic, "What the fuck are you talking about?! We're about to fucking die!"

"The crack in the glass," she insisted, more confidently than she actually felt, "It's—it's gotta be big enough to fit through, by now. We can—"

"So we can drown outside?!"

"Outside is where the pod can find us."

"No one's gonna goddamn find us!" He barely spit it out through panicked breathing, claws digging deeper, "They're not gonna get here quick enough!"

Lorna tried to pry off the vice-grip on her arm, not looking him in the eyes, "We… you have—wait, you have that jetpack thing, right? It could help you—if it works underwater you could get to the surface and—"

"I can't breathe up there either!"

The last of her suggestions died in her throat. Lorna could only stare up at the ceiling as it grew ever closer.

"… Drax never came back up," she said softly, only realizing it now.

"He's dead," Rocket croaked, his struggling all but ceased, "He's dead… he's dead, Groot's dead, they…" His grip tightened even more than before. After a pause, something sounded fundamentally broken when he spoke again.

"I just got 'em back." He seemed to finally crumble, "I just—got 'em all back— I _just _got them back—" It was barely coherent through tears, "_I just… got them back…"_

Lorna stopped treading water, instead leaning backwards to float on her back. She kept her grip on Rocket, ensuring he stayed afloat alongside her. For a while she said nothing, facing the inevitable ceiling.

"… If there's no point in doing anything," she began, eerily calm, "Then there's no point in being afraid, either." Lorna let her free arm drift aimlessly beside her. She took in a breath, deeply, and felt herself continue to shake as she exhaled. But it was all she could do to repress the fear that knotted her stomach. "When the water gets to the top, we'll swim down. And out."

"We—it won't matter—"

"We'll try anyway. We have nothing to do but try." The lump in her throat was swallowed, "It'll matter to us."

Water sloshed against her face. The chill threatened to turn her limbs into numb, useless planks; she flexed her fingers in an attempt to combat this.

"When I say," she instructed, unable to muster anything but quiet prodding, "Take in a breath. But you have to calm down, first. It'll last longer that way."

"I don't _want _it to last longer," was the weak resistance she received.

Lorna adjusted her hold, positioning him around her shoulder so he could latch onto her shirt. She found one of his hands and squeezed it.

"It'll be okay."

He didn't reply.

"It's… it's painless, I've heard," she fought to keep her voice, "Like. Passing out."

The ceiling was within arm's reach. She was about to break and she knew it.

"Just hold onto me and it'll be fine. It'll be quick, I promise."

Her nose pressed against the cold, smooth ceiling tile above her. Lorna reduced her cry into a hiccup.

"It's okay." She shook, "It's time. It'll—it'll be okay. Get ready."

"I'm—I'm not ready."

When water lapped at her mouth, Lorna took in a breath and dove.

Strokes as wide as she could manage, they descended through the suspended trash, down deeper and deeper. They came to the glass wall, hole narrow and tall. Lorna slipped through, reaching back to ensure Rocket was still clinging on, and swam out into the foggy, empty ocean abyss.

Though she couldn't make out much in the watery haze, there was nothing to suggest any trace of Drax or Groot… but it didn't make a difference, anymore. She did the last thing she could and swam up.

Out in the open, the weight of the water against her chest was harder to ignore… and the knowledge that there would be no second breath of air made the current one sour faster.

It burned. Her throat, her lungs. There was a pressure inside her head, hammering in her ears and behind her eyes.

She felt a tug on her sleeve—Rocket started to thrash.

Lorna swam. Up. Towards darkness.

Towards nothing.

The resistance on her sleeve became more violent.

She swam. Slower. Her arms were harder to move. Cold. Her chest hurt. Her head hurt. She saw nothing. She felt too much.

There was no more tugging on her sleeve.

Unable to stop herself, she breathed in nothing but water. Her body jolted, rejecting it, making her gasp desperately—more water. No relief. Her chest couldn't force out the water because of the pressure around her. The burn turned into a smoldering pain.

She knew she'd lied: it was nothing like passing out. But she didn't know just how wrong she'd been.

For too long, she saw the black haze and nothing else. And waited for it all to fade. _Begged _for it all to just _stop. _Self-preservation wouldn't allow her to drift off, to close her eyes and will herself to give in.

Before the blackness got even darker, there was white. Faint white. Growing…

Then, it too vanished.

* * *

Her chest still hurt when the world came back into focus, but for an entirely different reason.

Nebula continued to pump her chest, putting more force into the compressions than may have been necessary, but it got the job done.

Lorna coughed tepidly, then fiercely—water sputtered out, burning her throat further and worsening the coughing fit. She felt herself being propped up and tilted to the side, allowing her to spit up water onto the floor rather than back onto herself.

When she could more or less sit up on her own, Nebula released her hold and backed up, watching silently to ensure things didn't take a turn for the worst.

Coughing more than she was breathing, Lorna rubbed at her searing eyes. Everything—literally, _everything _hurt. It felt like she'd been tossed off a cliff and managed to hit every boulder on the way down.

Her vision started to clear, now only blurred from tears brought on by coughing, and she noticed the people sitting silently on the other end of the pod.

Now that she was alive, and would be so for at least the next few minutes, her brain allowed her to process less vital matters. She smiled weakly.

"You—" She forced it through wheezes, "Bastards left—us."

Drax huffed, offended, "That is a funny way to thank us for saving your life."

Lorna pointed a half-limp hand in the direction Nebula had gone, "She saved me. Y'all watched."

It was met with another huff. Groot looked too exhausted to care.

Lorna, shaking under her own weight, collapsed onto her back once again—the floor was cold and unyielding, but she didn't even consider complaining.

Once she could breathe without coughing every few seconds, Lorna reached up to explore the stinging on one of her forearms—her fingers came back bloody, though it was half watered-down.

_Huh. How'd that happen._

_…_

She sprung into a sitting position, _"SHIT ROCKET—"_

"You don't gotta yell, jeez."

He was sitting comfortably (or as comfortable as someone dripping wet and still partially drowned could be) on the bench beside her, staring down at her place on the floor.

Lorna sighed in relief, which only resulted in more coughing.

Rocket, arms crossed, made a skeptical sound.

"_Not painful, _huh?" It was too tired to be considered accusatory, "_Like passing out, _is it?"

She returned to her back, putting up both hands to substitute a shrug.

"Yeah that—I was lying. I've heard it's super terrifying."

He muffled a cough with his hand, "I got that, yeah."

Since a laugh would only bring back another round of respiratory torture, she mustered a smile.

"I just figured—" Lorna dropped her hands at her sides, as it required too much energy to keep them suspended, "There was no point in saying that and—you know. Making your last minutes a shit-ton worse." She offered a poor excuse for a cough, "Right?"

"Uh-huh." There was more behind it, but Rocket hesitated, thinking it over first. "Pretty… calm for knowing you're gonna die."

Half out of it, eyes closed, she made a dismissive sound.

"'s just practice."

Rocket scrutinized her from a distance, "Mm." Eventually he dropped his gaze, scratching a spot on his neck. His tone returned to something more akin to normal, "If thunder boy doesn't have that stupid book, I'm gonna shoot his spark-plugs off."

It made her laugh—the coughing returned.

"You don't—want to go back and check?"

"Oh go screw yourself." He hopped off the bench, starting towards the front of the pod, but halted at a sudden thought; it made him snap his attention back to Lorna, eyes narrowed threateningly.

"And if I hear you telling _anyone _about what went down back there—"

She waved it away as soon as he started, "I dunno what you're talking about, man. 's far as I remember, the water rose so fast that we didn't even getta chance to say anything."

He seemed surprised, but recovered quickly, "Damn right."

Once he'd walked away, Lorna threw up her hands again.

"You're welcome, dick!"


End file.
